Series 11 One-shots
by Graveygraves
Summary: Yes they are back. My latest series of one-shots. Each chapter is a post ep for an epsiode from the 11th season. All characters to be involved at some point.
1. The Job

**Series 11 One-shots: The Job**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

 **Yes it's that time again. I have been motivated by various words of encouragement to do another series of one-shots. We have just started getting the episodes over her in the UK so I am a few weeks behind some of you.**

 **I had so many possible prompts from the first episode but have decided with a little bit of a Rossi to kick us off.**

 **Just to be a little different this is set prior to the episode, instead of after.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt**

 **Garcia:** But we're down two profilers.

 **Rossi:** Our five brains against his one. My money's still on us.

 **Hotch:** Let's get to work.

. . .

Pushing the door open wide with one hand, David Rossi entered his semi dark office with a sigh. The Paperwork Fairy had not been in over the weekend; however the Overload Goblin had definitely played a visit. Nudging his luxury desk chair back he scanned the crowded surface of his desk for a coffee cup sized space. Eventually he spotted a possibility and placed the cup down before dropping his briefcase to the floor and slumping into his swivelling leather chair.

Briefly his eyes gazed over the piles of files, one of those he had reviewed and just needed a final check before handing them in. That pile was easily doable. Then his eyes settled on the fresh set of folders. These were his new caseload. Reviews to be done, consultations to be formulated and reports to be written.

Reaching for his coffee he decided they could all wait until he had finished his coffee. Savouring the smell, his eyes closed he contemplated what weird and wonderful possibilities the week could bring. Sipping on the warming liquid, his own blend, not FBI standard issue, Dave settled back thinking about how tough the weeks had got since JJ had taken maternity leave alongside Kate. Being one agent down had upped the ante, but being two down had taken it to a whole new level.

It wasn't that any of them minded, it was great hearing news of the newest members of the family team. Kate had already popped in with her bundle of joy, brightening their typically dark day. JJ had been in contact but he had missed her visit due to a prison interview. Though he had every intention of calling round to get in an Uncle Dave snuggle cuddle before long.

Placing the empty cup down he pulled the first pile towards him and began checking and signing.

. . .

Striding purposefully towards Aaron's office, a stack of files in his arms, Dave's attention was grabbed but the sudden outburst of laughter coming from the bullpen. Without looking he recognised the owners of the sound. Morgan and Garcia were stood by Reid's desk the sort of smirk on Morgan's face that made it clear that he was up to no good. Another successful round of the ongoing prank war Dave guessed by the perplexed look on Reid's face.

Smiling to himself he carried on towards his friend and colleague's office. Walking through the open door Dave nodded as Aaron's head rose from his own manila mountain.

"Thought you might be getting bored, so I found these wanting your attention," he said with a smirk.

"Gee thanks," Aaron muttered, head back down as he finished the comment he had been half way through.

Dave placed the folders down carefully, not wanting to upset the chaotic workflow of the over full desk.

"Missing them yet?"

Aaron's head rose once more, a swift nod giving his answer, "Think I missed them before they were gone. How did you and Gideon manage when there just to two of you?"

"Technically there were more than two of us and nobody wanted our help anyway."

Aaron smiled, "Can't blame them really."

Instantly Dave looked wounded, "What are you saying about the BAU Godfathers?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, grinning.

"So, dare I ask if you have managed to find us an additional person?"

"I have some candidates lined up for interview this week."

Dave nodded slowly, "That sounds very . . . professional. Do I take it that no-one has captured you attention yet?"

"I don't know; think I'd prefer you to say that I am trying to keep an open mind."

"Look Aaron, we can cope for a while longer, there's no rush. You have a solid team out there."

Unconsciously Aaron's head spun towards the door, acknowledging the three existing members of the team.

"You're right there, though when did you suddenly become such a team player?"

"When you and the dynamic trio out there, plus a few others along the way, brain washed me. If I wasn't such a believer in our pseudo science I would call it witchcraft."

Both men laughed, knowing that the team they worked with was contagious, unfortunately members had come and gone but the feeling of family remained, bonding them together.

"Though they are a mixed bunch," Dave added, "The High School Jock, Nerdy Genius and the Glamorous Geek. Who would have thought that was a winning combination. It almost goes against everything we teach in 'The Psycho Dynamics of Group Cultures', though I wouldn't swap any of them."

"I had never thought of it like that, but now you mention it . . ."

"Oh come off it Aaron, we all know that we analyse each other even if we don't voice it. And don't tell me you didn't think about the impact on them," his thumb jerking over his shoulder in the direction of his colleagues, "when you read through the candidates applications."

"I have to consider the team's strengths and weaknesses and how each person could enrich the team."

Dave laughed out loud, "Oh Aaron which one of the Directors fed you that line?"

Hanging his head in shame, he admitted defeat, "Yes I have eliminated a lot of people based on my belief that they wouldn't fit in. And yes I may have been called into to an office on high to discuss why I felt that no-one was suitable from the numerous candidates put forward."

Understanding Dave leant forward, his fingers lacing as he rested his chin on them, "Well that's reassuring to know. Not that I would have thought you would have done anything but look out for the team."

The two men continued to chat for a while, neither in a rush to return to the pile of files that awaited their attention.

. . .

Finding good players is easy. Getting them to play as a team is another story.

 **Casey Stengel, Baseball player/manager**


	2. The Witness

**Series 11 One-shots: The Witness**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **Personal opinion: I didn't think much to this episode. Sorry, hence the hold up on getting another chapter too you.**

 **Anyone who knows me will not be surprised by the prompt I have picked.**

 **This is set a week before the episode!**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Reid:** Which means . . . in the year 2200 I'm going to get Morgan back for the practical joke he played on me last week.

 **Morgan:** Bring it on Pretty Boy – I'll be waiting for you.

 **Reid:** I'll be there.

. . .

Spencer walked into the bullpen, his satchel bag slung over his shoulder. He greeted Anderson and a few other colleagues as he walked by them. He had a take out coffee in hand, already his third of the day. He had a late night Dr Who fest, so it was his own fault but worth it, in a completely overindulgent way.

As he made his way towards his desk, Spencer's eyes narrowed. Suddenly everyone in the area of his desk seemed to be hard at work. He lifted his gaze to see both Hotch and Rossi had their office doors closed. The same could not be said about Morgan. His door was wide open and Spencer could see him, head down, at his desk.

This could only mean one of two things. Derek was either behind on his reports, once again, and had been in early frantically catching up or he had been up to something and the next round of the pranks war was about to be played out.

Hovering by his desk Spencer glanced over the contents, looking for tell tale signs of sabotage. Instantly he looked at his in tray, it hadn't grown much overnight so his guess was that Derek hadn't palmed any files off on him, so it was unlikely that he was struggling over a pile of paperwork up there.

That left the more obvious option. Yet another of Derek Morgan lame Jock prank. Though Spencer had long ago learnt not to underestimate his arch-enemy. Derek's pranks may be basic but they were effective.

Slowly he placed his satchel down on the floor next to his desk. He scanned the desk looking intently at everything. He had been caught out before by Derek's most rudimental attempts. Quick and effective was his usual style – with a few more intensive hits just to keep him on his toes.

The war had spanned years now, laying low long enough to fool others that it had ended – when they both knew they were biding their time for it all to surface once more. They were both aware that it had on occasion annoyed others, but generally they kept many entertained. On occasion it had been obvious that Hotch had struggled to reprimand them for their actions – a wry smile playing out as he reminded them of the consequences of their childish actions.

Right now he could feel the tension building around him. Spencer failed to interpret a lot in many social situations but no-one could miss what was going on as he deliberately took his time settling into work.

Taking a step back and sipping his coffee, Spencer examined the desk drawers one by one. Nothing obviously to show they had been tampered with – hopefully this would mean that he wasn't likely to have something exploding out at him when he opened them. That said he gently eased each opened in turn just to check. As he reached the last one he pulled it back slowly, wincing in anticipation.

Nothing.

He breathed a slow sigh of relief.

Standing slowly he cast his eyes back over the desk, looking intently at each inch. He dared to glance up at the offices once more. Catching Derek watching him. That confirmed it – he had done something.

But what?

Sipping his coffee once more Spencer carried on his detailed inspection of everything. Carefully lifting items and replacing, examining his keyboard for signs of it being tampered with (he wasn't having to explain to resources why there was grass growing between the keys once more). Eventually he switched the device on, well aware that Penelope had helped both of them over time. The computer seemed to start up normally – no screen shot, missing icon pranks this time (after all Derek had done a version of that twice).

He shook his head slowly. He was starting to run out of obvious options. After all this was something he had thoroughly researched, possible workplace pranks, as Spencer believed thorough preparation was vital. Wracking his brains for possible ideas that Derek could have set up, Spencer looked completely lost.

Stepping back he felt the chair behind his knees. Flopping down into it he instantly regretted his action. The loud fog horn siren sounded almost as soon as he touched the seat. Shooting back up, coffee launched and landing all over his in-tray. Spencer looked horrified that he hadn't checked the chair before sitting, rookie mistake. Looking around everyone was split into two camps. Heads down containing their sniggers and head back, out and out laughing. Slowly looking up at the walk way he was suddenly aware of Hotch and Rossi looking down at him. He gave and awkward shrug. What more could he say.

Then he let his gaze move along to Derek's office. His looked said everything. Smug didn't begin to describe it. That was until Hotch hollered Morgan's name.

Spencer watched Derek cringe before standing, his smug grin gone.

"You too Reid!"

Both men trudged towards their superiors' office.

. . .

Stood beside each other they both waited for Hotch to stop staring and start speaking. They were seasoned profilers, they knew what he was doing and were ashamed to admit it was working. Under his unwavering stare they tried not to fidget and show their discomfort.

Finally Hotch hissed out a sigh; "Which part of this has got to stop do you two fail to understand?"

Neither men replied, even Spencer realised this was a rhetorical question and his best bet was to remain silent.

"Do I need to remind you of the conversation we had about the impact of your practical jokes on your colleagues? Do I need to remind you of Cruz' warning? Honestly I am considering banging your heads together to try and knock some sense into you."

Both men nodded, still not saying a word.

Hotch sighed once more, "I appreciate how hard this job is and the need to have some fun. I personally haven't got a problem with it all, but please, please can you keep it out of the office?"

"Yes" they uttered in unison.

"Good"

The single word indicated the end of the conversation. Both men hurried out of the door, Spencer following Derek back to his office. Once inside Spencer placed the foghorn canister he had removed from under his chair seat and placed it onto Derek's desk.

"I think this belongs to you."

Derek briefly looked sheepish then grin, "Yeah but I got you."

Spencer nodded, affirming his friend's confident statement. "But as they say revenge is a dish best served cold." Spencer turned to walk away.

"C'mon man, you heard what the Bossman said. This is it. Game over."

"Of course." Spencer left Derek and returned to his work.

. . .

It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.

 **Ralph Waldo Emerson, Poet**


	3. Til Death Do Us Part

**Series 11 One-shots: 'Til Death do us Part**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **Just for the record I am deliberately avoiding all spoilers as I know you are weeks ahead of us, we have just had episode 5 aired in the UK. Therefore the only spoilers in these chapters should be related directly to that episode and not anything coming up in the next few weeks. Hope that makes sense.**

 **Thought I should say that as this chapter relates to the 'Dirty Dozen' story arch.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Morgan:** What? What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?

 **Garcia:** I have been up every night, thinking about how somewhere, out there, there are the lives of twelve strangers in my freakish beautiful doll hands and what if I don't get there in time? Or they're already dead?

 **Morgan:** Stop, stop, stop.

. . .

Sat crossed legged on her couch Pen tapped away at the laptop she had in front of her. Periodically she glanced sideways at the other machine whirring away by her foot on the couch. The screen was busy, flickering frantically as it scrolled through searching the information once more.

She knew she had been through all of this like a bazillion times already. But she must have missed something. It had to be there, just like a cyber game of hide and seek. The minute details hidden and patiently waiting for her to find it. Though she was starting to feel that each time she got close it ran off and hid in another spot just to keep the game going.

Frustrated didn't begin to describe it.

Pen's brow furrowed as she focused on the screen in front of her, her eyes narrowing as she struggled to concentrate. Slowly she read through each piece of information again, letting instinct take her from one piece to another as she tried to piece together what was happening.

Intently re-reading the page that she had settled on Pen jumped at the knock on her door. She glanced at the shiny silver wall clock opposite and was surprised by how late it was getting, once again. Placing her laptop on the coffee table she pushed off from her plump sofa and made her way towards the door.

"Who is it?" she called through, not expecting anyone.

"Your knight in shining armour, Baby Girl, let me in."

Penelope instinctively smiled as she opened the door. "And to what do I owe the honour of your most pleasurable company?"

Derek walked past her into the room, making the bag of take out obvious. "Well I was worried that you were pulling _another_ all-nigher and I can't have you ignoring your needs to try and meet others. My guessing is that you haven't eaten. Am I right?"

Letting her head drop, Pen nodded, how did he know her so well? Looking back up she wasn't surprised by the concerned expression on his face. She shrugged and gave a goofy smile, there was no excuse she could offer.

Derek turned his head, looking at the computer set up she was working with.

"How about we eat this, away from that lot," he indicated the pile by her couch, "Then I give you a hand looking over the info you have found so far, see if a fresh pair of eyes can spot something you haven't yet. After all you did similar for me when I was determined to find Doyle."

A cheesy smile spread across Pen's face as she moved forward to link arms with Derek, "Why that sounds just perfect." Together then made their way to her kitchen, Derek placed the bag down on the breakfast bar and Pen reached for plates and cutlery. "Drink?" she called over her shoulder to Derek.

"If you're planning on keeping me up all night Sweet Thing, you best make a pot of coffee."

"Sweet, strong and black, just like you, coming up." Pen busied herself making a fresh pot of coffee and Derek lay out the contents of the take out for them to share.

. . .

Derek stared intently at the laptop Penelope had passed to him, trying to take in every word. The problem was they were a couple of hours in and his vision was blurring. He had long had all the tell tale signs that he should call it a night but some how his Baby Girl still seemed to be going.

"I hate to be a party pooper, but I am fairly sure I read this an hour or so ago. That or I am losing the plot. How about we quit and try again tomorrow?"

Pen looked up at him, her eyes wide as saucers as she chewed the fluorescent pink pen. He could almost see the cogs whirling as she processed what he said.

"Urgh," she finally uttered and slumped back from her laptop that was still perched on the coffee table.

Derek reached forward and massaged her temples, trying to sooth the worries he could clearly see etched on her usually carefree features. "Baby this isn't down to you alone. We are all in this together. I am more than willing to help you in anyway I can, but right now you need sleep and so do I."

"Sure thing," Penelope pulled away from him and stood making her way to show him out.

"What you doing?"

"Letting you out."

Derek stood and shook his head; "Best stay by that door to let me back in with my go-bag. I am not heading home and letting you carry on through to the small hours. I'll settle for the couch, just to make sure you get some sleep too!"

Giving him a petulant look, she opened the door; "What if I promise not to work anymore!"

"Obviously I trust you, but lets just say I would like to make sure you keep that promise. Now I'll be back up in five, please let me in," Derek smiled sweetly.

"There are times I would love to hate you."

. . .

"Life is an awful, ugly place to not have a best friend."  
 **Sarah Dessen** **,** _ **Someone Like You**_


	4. Outlaw

**Series 11 One-shots: Outlaw**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **OK so I've done it again – yep I'm off on a tangent. What can I say other then Morgan spoke to me. Hope you like. It links to a one-shot I did for Series 6: Safe Haven.**

 **Sorry this chapter was already to go on Thursday but I run out of time. Then my computer decided to eat the chapter and I have had to write most of it again. I am gutted as I can't remember it all and I'm not as happy with this as I was the original.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Morgan:** He let them live. I wonder why?

. . .

Sat on the large soft bed, Derek had a closed blue wooden box in front of him. It was rarely viewed nowadays but he already knew just where it was. Even moving into their new home together Derek had managed to find a safe place for the memory box he had created with his mother.

Savannah had been intrigued, when she had seen him squirreling it away, especially when she had caught a glance of the photo on top. She had commented on unbelievable Afro he had been sporting as a toddler, but she hadn't asked. She hadn't pried into its contents. Maybe, now, it was the right time to share. To open up another piece of him to the woman he loved.

Standing up he left their room and made his way downstairs. He found Savannah on the couch where he had left her. Her slender legs curled underneath her as she was engrossed in the book she held. _Did all doctors consume books as if they were a food substance?_ he pondered as he made his way towards her. Of course he was only basing his judgment on the good Dr Reid and Savannah, but boy could that girl get through a novel or two.

Gently he sat down beside her. Waiting for her to look up, cradling the box in his strong hands. Meer moments passed before Savannah's eyes met his. He noticed the slight crease form between her eyebrows as she briefly studied him before speaking.

"You ok?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, "maybe."

Derek watched as Savannah placed the book down on the sleek polished wooden coffee table before turning herself round on the couch to face him. He knew he had her full attention as she rested her side against the back of the couch looking down at the box before returning her gaze to him.

Without saying a word Derek let his eyes drop to the box in his hands. He hadn't realised that his thumb was tracing the edge as he sat there. Looking back up he smiled, "This is all about me and my Pops."

Savannah smiled, looking down at the photo; "Now I know where you got your million watt smile from."

This made Derek's grin all the wider, "Mom will tell you I got more than just my smile from him; my immense stubborn streak, my flirty nature. . ."

"You're kind and caring ways . . . your Mom has told me a few bits." Savannah interrupted with a shrug, "She caught me looking at a family photo one day when we last went to visit. She worries about you and how like him you are. You really remind her of him."

Dropping his head, Derek opened the box. He didn't need reminding that his Mom worried about the life he led and the career he chose. Though he knew that she supported him every step of the way and every choice he made was to make his parents proud.

Staring at the contents he said, "Mom helped us to make these boxes after Pops died. She wanted us to have a box full of happy memories. A way to celebrate everything that had made him special to us."

Derek felt Savannah's hand rest on his arm, she didn't say anything, just shuffled a little closer. He pulled out a stash of photos, "Guess you have seen this one at Mom's." Savannah nodded as she looked at the photo Derek knew his Mom had in a frame at home. It was a family shot from the summer before his Pops' died. "Bet there are a few in here you haven't seen, unless Mom has got the photo albums out when I've not been around."

"Can I look?' she asked, prompting him to pass the photos to her. Derek watched as she flicked through pausing and smiling at various ones. She asked questions and they chatted about each one, until Savannah handed them back.

Digging a little deeper Derek pulled out a Chicago PD badge and a boxed medal. He briefly looked up at a matching one he had mounted on a plaque on a shelf on the opposite side of the wall.

"Mom didn't want me to have this. She was afraid I would follow in his footsteps. Guess she was right."

"I think what worried her is that put in the same situations you'd do the same thing." Savannah paused, Derek could feel her eyes on him so he looked up at her "It worries me too."

"I wondered for years why he did it. Why he hid me away and then walked off to confront them, but . . ."

"But . . ."

"But I understand. The longer I do this job the more I understand it isn't something you pick up and put down. You do it 24/7. Just like you and your job – you wouldn't walk past an accident."

Derek noticed Savannah's smile, "No I wouldn't. What your Dad did was brave beyond comparison. He did what he thought was best. You don't have anything to live up to. I am sure you have made him proud already- I know you've made you Mom proud."

Derek looked down at the medal in his hand. He had hated the day it had been given to him. It didn't replace his Pops, it didn't change what happened, but he had changed. It had made him beg his Mom for it, to add it to the box. Placing the things back it the box he closed the lid, turning toward Savannah. He knew he could make vain promises that he would always be here, that he wouldn't do anything to hurt her. Instead he took her hand and kissed it softly: "I love you."

. . .

A father is a man who expects his son to be as good a man as he meant to be.

 **Frank A. Clark, politician**

. . .

 _The 2015 Profiler's Choice Awards are on! Calling all CM readers and Authors! Join us in the annual Profiler's Choice CM Awards; help us choose the best of the best Criminal Minds fanfiction and let your voice be heard. Check out the nomination ballot and rules at the Profilers Choice Awards 2015 Forum. All rules and information can be found there. Nominations begin November 14, 2015 and end December 31, 2015 (please note: ballots received before November 14 will not be counted. Thank you). All entries with ten (10) or more categories filled out are eligible to win an Amazon gift card!_


	5. The Night Watch

**Series 11 One-shots: The Night Watch**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **Sorry Christmas got in the way. Hope all who celebrate had a great one. I did. All the best for the New Year. I have my fingers (and toes) crossed for a better one.**

 **For this one I am tackling Tara Lewis – finally. Hope it works, as I am not sure I have got her as a character yet. Here goes . . .**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Doug:** You are more interested in a guy who killed a bunch of little kids then you are in me.

. . .

Tara threw the keys onto the table top; sighing as they slid the full length of the wooden surface and fell off the other end onto the floor. Cursing under her breath she made her way over to pick them up before dropping them securely into the middle of the table, alongside the pile of post she had in her other hand.

Sighing she looked round, at first glance it seemed Doug had been fair and only taken what was his with him. Though it left the apartment looking baron. Making her realised that most of her stuff was still in boxes. _Oh well it would give her something to do_ she thought to herself _._

Kicking off her shoes Tara made her way towards the fridge, vainly hoping there would still be something edible in there. Opening the door she pulled a face as she scanned over the contents. A couple half used jars of sauce were festering at the top. Some cheese that she was sure should not be blue was on the next shelf down. Winching she pulled open the salad drawer, then shut it rapidly. Slamming the door shut, Tara decided against even considering smelling the milk. Mentally she added clear out the fridge to her to do list.

Side stepping Tara opened the cupboards one by one. Nothing inspiring. There were some Oreos but without milk . . . she wrinkled her nose, if she was doing comfort food then she would do it properly. Chips and dip were a possibility . . . but then again. Various open cereal boxes left her with the same milk issue as before . . . though if desperate she might consider a bowl of dry Cheerios (Doug's choice of cereal not hers, one thing he would not give up for love nor money). There were a few tins scattered on one shelf alongside pasta and rice. She might be able to rustle up something with them.

Spinning round Tara sighed as she leaned back against the counter top. Truth be told she didn't feel like eating. At this rate she'd be losing a few extra pounds, not just those that walked out the door. Wincing she did what she was trying to avoid and reached for a tumbler before walking across the room. Peering into the cabinet as she opened it she was glad to see the contents had been left. Grabbing an open bottle of Jack Daniels Tara poured a slug of bourbon. Taking the bottle and the glass to the couch with her she looked round for a surface to put them down on. The coffee table had been his so she shouldn't expect to see it still here, _great now she could add retail therapy to her to do list. Hell how about a complete apartment make over while she was at it,_ She thought sarcastically _._

Placing the bottle on the floor she cradled the drink, blaming Rossi for giving her a taste of the good stuff on the flight home. She knew getting drunk was not the answer – she could quote you chapter and verse on the process of her 'grief' and coming to terms with the enviable. However knowing what your brain was doing as it adjusted did not mean that you were able to avoid all the pitfalls. She was human after all.

Denial had been short lived for her, she had almost expected it; although she hadn't been willing to admit that to Doug as he had told her he was leaving. That said she hadn't put up much of a fight either. There was little point denying that they were more like room buddies the lovers. Sharing a bed had become a habit. However denying the impact on her – well Tara knew that was a different story. She knew her half-hearted quips had bolstered her confidence. She knew that she had hidden her heartbreak behind the mask of sarcasm. Tara also knew that Rossi had seen straight through all of her bravado – so much for no intra-team profiling.

As she sat there sipping the deep amber liquor Tara allowed the anger that she had suppressed build in her. She didn't like anger as an emotion, guess no one likes it, but anger scared her. The lack of control that it could lead to, the consequences of letting anger take hold. Yet Tara also knew it was necessary to move forward, to get over him.

Even though she understood why he had left, Tara was still angry with Doug. She was angry that he had been so calm, that he had told her the way he did. That he hadn't tried to fight, to change things, to make it better. The whole conversation had been so finite. In fact it hadn't really been a conversation. If she had been observant she would have noticed the overnight bag he had packed ready when she came in. He had been ready to leave – literally waiting for her to come home so he could tell her.

Tara reached down for the bottle refilling her glass. _Goddamn he had planned it all._

She recalled Doug sat at the table, probably with the same glass she held now. As she had sat there in shock, listening but not hearing he had got up and walked away. _He had walked away from her._ She knew he had explained why. She knew he had explained that he would be back for his stuff. She knew he had said that he was giving her space, and that it was best he left straight away. She had no idea where he had stayed that night – honestly she didn't care (did she?).

Suddenly she shot up, grabbing her cell phone from her bag. She tapped in the code and scanned through the favourites. Tara smiled, she was not going to call him, as it would be a mistake. Tapping the name she did want she held it to her ear, listening to the rings.

Eventually she heard a familiar voice.

"Hey Dave, Jack isn't making for good company tonight, fancy joining the party?"

She smiled as he told her he was on his way. Maybe the best way out of this wasn't on her own.

. . .

How people treat you is their karma; how you react is yours.

 **Wayne Dyer, self help author**


	6. Pariahville

**Series 11 One-shots: Pariahville**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **I'm dedicating this chapter to Rossi, which means I might avoid him in the next chapter – though I still haven't made my mind up on that one.**

 **This isn't necessarily Rossi's birthday this year – just a year.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt**

 **Rossi:** Once a year on my birthday I go visit this killer in prison. His idea, not mine, believe me! He's the only one who knows where the bodies are buried. He gives me a name and I give a family some peace and closure, but . . . every time I sit across from him, treating him like a human being, it takes something out of me.

. . .

Dave sat and watched the seconds tick away on his watch. As always he was early, it gave him time to compose himself before he had to go in. As he watched the seconds turn into minutes he tried to calm the tension that was building in him. Tommy Yates was not going to know just how far under Dave's skin he had got, he was already taken enough.

He knew he would have to exit his car and make his way in shortly, but honestly the journey got harder each year that he made it. The burden was taking its toll on him. Living one year to the next waiting for the gift of a name; and the ability it gave him to help another family have and answer, the chance to realise their loss as they had an end to the unknown.

Glancing up as the ticking hand passed twelve once more he sighed deeply before drawing in a large breath, trying to suck in the strength he needed into his body to face what was to come. Reaching down he opened the door and stepped outside, the sudden rush of fresh air like a slap to his face, waking him up from his self-pity.

It was what he needed, instantly the swagger was back as he strode purposefully towards the prison building. Casually shoving his hands into his jean pockets as he made his way towards the inevitable. The sun was high in the sky but the breeze was refreshing, too nice a day to be stuck inside. Perfect for a spot of fishing down at Little Creek, but alas not today. He whistled a little Sinatra to himself as he made his way up to the formidable entrance to the prison.

Reaching the entrance, he was welcomed in by Prison Officer Davidson.

"Why, it can be another year already Agent Rossi," Davidson commented as he automatically processed the visitor paperwork.

"'Fraid so," Dave replied as he considered the possibility that Davidson actually picked this shift each year as he had been sat in the same position annually for a least the last five visits.

"Well you are looking good for it, as always. Sorry to ask but well . . . you know the drill."

"Sure do," Dave answered as he handed over his weapon and other banned items.

"Thank you, sure do make my job easy. Happy Birthday by the way Sir."

"Thank you Davidson."

Dave turned and stood by the door, waiting for the buzz and the judder as it opened and allowed him in.

Stepping through the gapping jaws of the monster, he inhaled deeply once more. The testosterone fuelled smell of too many males in too smaller space already present in the air. Oh how he hated these places and all that inhabited them.

Prison Officer Rowling, another familiar face, escorted Dave towards the visiting room where he would wait for Tommy Yates. The battleship grey walls merging with the painted steel bars as they passed gateways to corridors leading off to who knows what, they passed the time with general chit chat as Dave tried to regain his focus. He knew he was increasingly distracted in weeks running up to his birthday visit.

"Well Sir, here goes," Rowling had his hands on the handle of the door. "Good luck."

"Thank you," Dave stepped through the door, as it swung open. He took an uncomfortable seat on the cold steel secured chair, placing his file down on the table. He waited.

The door opposite opened. His eyes instantly falling to Yates' shackled hands and the sheet of folded paper they held. It was the only thing in the room that interested him.

"Ah Agent Rossi, so good to see you again. Many happy returns."

Dave nodded an acknowledgement as Yates sat down opposite him Yates, their eyes meeting. Unblinking Dave placed his hands on the cold steel surface of the secured table, protectively either side of his manila file.

"I would love to say it is a pleasure, but . . ."

Yates sniggered, "Oh Agent Rossi . . . are you not just a little pleased to see me and my most unique gift?" As he spoke he tapped one finger on the infamous paper that contained the vital information.

"I would be pleased with just one of those two things," Dave retorted, "If I may?" he added holding out his hand.

Yates enjoyed the power of the moment, prolonging the inevitable, "What no chit chat? You don't want to discuss the weather or how I am feeling?"

Dave sighed before drawing on every reserve he held. Honestly he wanted to tell Yates that he didn't give a damn how he was feeling. Well that's not true . . . he hoped he was most defiantly uncomfortable in every possible sense of the word. He wanted to pin him down and beat every last name and place out of him. But he knew that he had to play the game. To be the better man and not allow himself down to Yates' level . . . no matter how tempting it was. He cared too much about the victims and their families to give up.

Dave nodded a wry smile spreading across his lips, "I am so sorry Tommy, how remiss of me. It must be my age. How are you doing?"

Tommy shrugged "Same old, same old."

"Now we've got that out the way . . ."

Yates smiled, Dave knew he was trying to rile him. Calmly he held Yates' stare, not backing down.

With a flick of his manacled wrist Yates sent the paper towards Dave. "Happy Birthday Agent Rossi . . ."

Dave unfolded the paper, reading the name only as Yates explained where to find the body of Bianca Carmody. Without saying another word Dave stood, walking away from Tommy as he continued to try to antagonise. The monotonous sound of his rendition of Happy Birthday fading behind as Rowling escorted him back to the entrance. This time they walked in silence.

Stepping outside, Dave took a moment to breath the fresh air a deeply as he could. Repeatedly he swallowed the freshness, purging his body of the stale stench of incarceration.

"Happy Birthday," he mumbled to himself, stepping down towards the parking lot. Feeling 100 years older after a few short minutes.

. . .

There are two great days in a person's life - the day we are born and the day we discover why.

 **William Barclay, author and presenter**


	7. Target Rich

**Series 11 One-shots: Target Rich**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **So lots of people had ideas of where and what I should do with this chapter. I had 6 possible prompts to start with and had to whittle it down to just the one.**

 **Possibly predictable, but it was the route I had to go in the end.**

 **Reid and his Mom.**

 **Just a quick note to remind you that we are a little behind over here in the UK I am doing my best to avoid spoilers so please don't let me know if I have got this even close to right or wrong.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **JJ:** Everything ok?

 **Reid:** Actually no! My Mum's not doing so well. The doctors have had to change her medicine three times to try and stabilise her schizophrenia.

. . .

The friendly young nurse left him at the doorway to the common room. There had been no need to show him the way, but she wasn't to know that. It wasn't as if he would be a familiar face to her. He didn't get home to visit as often as he wished to. His main communications were directly with Doctor Hilliard and his team. Plus the letters and occasional phone calls to his Mom.

Instead of stepping forward and crossing the room Spencer stood and watched, she looked so peaceful and he didn't want to disturb her. Diana Reid was sat in the bright sunshine that streamed through the large window. It must have warmed her, yet she was huddled in her trademark woolly cardigan. He had to smile; she would never cope with the Quantico winters. He shuddered remembering what a shock the weather had been to his system after being brought up in Vegas.

As others busied themselves around him, Spencer took the chance to study his mother, something he rarely got the opportunity to do. She held a battered copy of one of her many books; he was too far away to tell which volume she was reading. If he could see it may help him to predict her mood. Certain authors and poets matched specific phases in his mother's condition.

Over the years he had got used to the roller coaster that was schizophrenia. He had watched in awe as she rose to the to the dizzy heights of sanity only to scream as they plummeted down to another depression. Each time the peaks got higher, the valleys were deeper. This relapse was a crushing blow after the last run of independence she had been having.

It was funny how he had been suspicious of her 'recovery' when it had happened. How he had watched and waited for it all to come crashing down, as it always did. But the longer it went on the more he got use to his Mom's messages and letters detailing her latest adventure. It had become a pleasure to hear of all the new things she was trying, the experiences that she would normally be suspicious of had merged into her everyday life.

Looking back the tell tale signs of the relapse had been hidden in her letters. Subconsciously he had known it was on its way, but he didn't want to admit it to himself. He hadn't wanted to see the end of all his Mom was enjoying, the new lease of life she had discovered. Maybe, just maybe, if he had of warned the doctors . . .

Shaking his head, to rid it of the negativity that had been eating away at him since he had received the last call telling him of her decline. He felt responsible, he always had and today was no different.

His Mom moved, closing the book on her lap as she reached forward for a glass of water. She sat, staring out into the beautiful gardens the other side of the window as she sipped the drink.

Spencer considered what Doctor Hilliard had said to him when he had arrived. The information relating to the rapid decline over the last few weeks and the various treatments they had tried. Even as they talked his mind had begun processing the options. Still it was whirring, trying to figure out what next. Frustration mixed with guilt as continued to process everything to find an alternative solution. One that would return his Mom to the woman she deserved to be.

Stood staring he could see the frown on her profile and the creases that her sadness caused. Spencer had enjoyed the smiles and the laughter. He hated that it was all gone once more. Stood in the doorway watching he felt like a kids once more trying to figure out what was going on and what he should do next. Would she even recognise him? Unlikely if she was a delirious as Doctor Hilliard had led him to believe. There was nothing worse than walking into your home to be shooed back out by your mother insistent that she had never seen you before in her life. But at least at home there was no one to witness the scene, here she could cause chaos, as she had in the past.

He didn't want to be the cause of her being sedated. He hated to watch the nurses restrain his mother. She was a peaceful woman and deserved to be treated with the upmost dignity. Which he knew she was, unless she lost it, and he didn't want to cause that to happen.

Sighing deeply he turned slowly, he would come back tomorrow. As he went to step away, something made him pause, to look back once more. She was staring at him. He stared back, studying her features. Was that a glimmer of recognition?

"Spencer," she whispered. He could she her mouth forming the word but not hear the sound. The confused look as she internally questioned her own vision.

Instantly he strode across the room and was by her side.

"Mom."

The simplest words; but filled with so much. Kneeling down he held both her hands in his, he could feel her wringing them together the way he did when he was nervous or excited, or both.

Her lips tugged into a suspicious smile, as she still doubted what she could see and feel right in front of her. She had lost all trust of her mind. Her hand came up and traced down his cheek.

"My baby boy . . . here." Her smile becoming genuine, as she knew for certain it was Spencer and not another cruel taunt of her imagination.

"I'm sorry Mom, so sorry."

Her fingers continued to trace his features, as if touch was the only way to make it real.

"Don't be, you're here now. Read to me please." She passed the book from her lap, he should have known, _The Book of Margery Kempe,_ her all time favourite and overall safe place to hide when the real world became too much.

Opening the book he settled himself on the floor at her feet, crossed legged, and began to read.

. . .

The schizophrenic mind is not so much split as shattered. I like to say schizophrenia is like a waking nightmare.

 **Elyn Saks**


	8. Awake

**Series 11 One-shots: Awake**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **Okay so I am still avoiding the Dirty Dozen storyline. I will tackle it soon I promise. This chapter is purely for fun and totally frivolous but just what I needed to pick me up this week (long story – but everything comes in threes as they say and I have had my three this week).**

 **For the record baby number one of mine had serve colic so totally know the feeling they are trying to get across with JJ.**

 **Sorry to all those lovely people who have reviewed – sorry I have not replied but snowed under and thought you might appreciate another chapter more. So a huge thank you for your support.**

 **. . .**

The 2015 Profiler's Choice Awards are on! Calling all CM readers and Authors! Join us for the final round in our annual Profiler's Choice CM Awards; help us choose the best of the best Criminal Minds fanfiction and let your voice be heard. Check out the final ballot and rules at the Profilers choice Awards 2015 Forum. All rules and information can be found there. Voting ends February 29 2016.

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Morgan:** I'm way off aren't I?

 **JJ:** You're cute, but the only action happening at our home at 3am is a colicky baby.

. . .

Savannah laughed out loud as she entered the lounge and watched Derek frantically pace backwards and forwards across the polished wood floor. His response was to glare at her, before smiling sweetly, she knew instantly he was after something.

"Help me out Babe . . . please," he pleaded with his best puppy dog eyes.

Moving around the room she carried on preparing for work, she shook her head. "Oh no, you and that smart mouth of yours got you into to this, you can dig yourself right out. Serves you right for not keeping your mind outta the gutter for more than five minutes"

Stopping on the spot he stared at her, barely hearing her words over the consistent cry of JJ's baby boy that he held in his arms. "I thought you liked babies," he tried in desperation.

"Oh I do, but preferably ones that aren't screaming for hours on end. Call it a work hazard I get all jumpy and assume there is something wrong."

"There is something wrong and you are leaving me here . . . alone!"

She nodded, "Sorry, picked up an extra shift, twenty staff off sick with this viral infection, not nice." Savannah screwed up her nose as she gestured the impact of the stomach bug that seemed to be working it's way round the hospital staff.

"Not nice . . . not nice is a baby that won't stop crying no matter what I do. I have tried feeding him, changing him and everything else JJ suggested in her idiots guide to babysitting Michael. Come on you're a doctor you must have some magic trick that will stop this!" Derek turned the infant in his arms to face Savannah, hoping that the baby's charm might win her over.

She stepped forward, closing the gap and rubbing the little one's cheek gently. "I'll be honest if I had a cure for colic I'd patent it and retire. Trust me it would make Dave look like a street urchin if I could solve this for parents. I guess at least after an hour or two of this you'll have a bit more sympathy for JJ when she comes in looking like a zombie and unable to have a caffeine fix. JJ and Penelope have really stitched you up with this. How did they get you to agree to babysit so they could give Henry some big brother attention?"

Rolling his eyes Derek started to pace again, instinctively holding the baby close to him as he did so, hoping to soothe him.

"Penelope did her big puppy dog eyes things, along with the 'I can't leave here' sympathy trip. I couldn't say no to them."

"Did you not think at the time it was payback?" Savannah asked as she caught up with Derek and took the baby into her arms, checking him over once more without consciously thinking about what she was doing. Yes he was warm but he hadn't been out of Derek's arms for at least half an hour now. She knew Derek had tried to feed, change and wind him. The poor thing was obviously in pain but she knew that there was no miracle cure for colic.

Derek ran his hands over his head as he shrugged, "I didn't think it could be that difficult to look after a baby for an hour or so, you know, feed it, change it and let it nap. Penelope is really struggling with the idea of Witness Protection. I just wanted to help, but yeah I get it now, thank you oh Wise One. Please Babe throw a sickie and get me through this . . . for better or worse and all that."

Savannah smiled, "Don't think I've made that promise . . . yet."

"Seriously, I'm a weak and feeble male I'm not designed for this. Reid could probably give you a whole heap of stats on why this is a bad idea. Please!"

Sighing deeply Savannah handed back baby Michael. "Ok some tips: holding may help, also wrapping him up snuggly – but keep an eye on his temperature, he's already warm and you don't want him over heating. Change your position – you may find he prefers one over another, not all babies like to be cradled, try up on your shoulder or laying tummy down on your forearm. Did JJ say if he had a preference?"

"Yeah she mentioned sitting up with him propped up on her at night."

"There you go. When I go offer the next feed JJ left you, and try and keep Michael as upright as possible to reduce the air he swallows. Dip the lights and keep it quiet and calm. Movement might help – you could try going for a drive once you have winded him. It might get him to sleep, but he may wake as soon as you stop." Savannah was now rubbing Michael's back as Derek had tried raising him up onto his shoulder, almost instantly the screams began to drop down to sobs.

"I thought JJ said that this was a 3am thing," Derek groaned as he took over rubbing Michael's back.

"Babies with colic can have several bouts a day or night, it's what makes it so exhausting for parents as each bout can last for hours."

"Hours!"

She nodded, reaching up to kiss him goodbye on the cheek, "Oh some babies like white noise, you know; washing machine, vacuuming – guess you could get a few chores done at the same time." She winked and stepped away gathering her bag and coat. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Savannah!"

She smiled as his face took a look of pure panic.

"Derek you face serial killers daily, what can a baby do to you?" she added as she left.

Lowering Michael from his shoulder and looking down at the infant in his arms Derek grinned, she was right, he could do this, couldn't he? How difficult could it be, really?

. . .

Parenthood remains the greatest single preserve of the amateur.

Alvin Toffler, writer


	9. Internal Affairs

**Series 11 One-shots: Internal Affairs**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **First, yet another apology but my Mum has been seriously ill and I haven't had time to think straight let alone write. The good news is she is on the mend and my life is slowly returning to some semblance of normal.**

 **Second, thank you for those who have reviewed and I haven't replied. I do appreciate your feedback and comments.**

 **So here goes with this chapter. I'm finally going to tackle a bit more of Garcia and the Dirty Dozen storyline.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Rossi:** You've been here a week. Have you thought about unpacking? It might make things a bit easier.

. . .

Sat alone, staring at the open bag in front of her, Penelope considered admitting defeat. That's what it would be if she gave in and unpacked – defeat, surrendering, giving up.

Cuddling the soft pink teddy close to her chest, occasional silent tears fell, as she sat all alone in the alien surrounds of her confinement. How could something so familiar suddenly seem so strange?

She knew Hotch had worked hard to secure her stay here, that really she should be in a soulless safe house somewhere that no one knew. She knew that this unused office was not what should have happened, but she would have hated to be whisked away. It wasn't ideal but Penelope had slept in worse, you didn't live the life of an underground hacker and expect luxury.

Yet still she couldn't unpack. She couldn't make that step to increase her comfort. Not without letting herself admit her life was out of her control. She had to remain strong. She had to believe her team would come through any day now and save her from this. But as days had turned into a week things had started to take their toll. The 'What if's?' started to gnaw at her each night as she slept alone in the mist of the twenty-four hour hubbub of the FBI.

In defiance she pulled the zip closed on the bag. She would not be defeated. She would resist. Her creature comforts were being met on the most basic of levels. It was all she needed right now. Soon all this would be a distant memory. She would laugh at the good times shared with her colleagues who seemed to be rallying round her.

Smiling Penelope lay down, snuggling the best she could, determined to get some sleep. Her mind going over the evening she had shared with 'The Bossman', she should have known he was a jalapeno fan. Though his stoic features had flickered as he had enjoyed the omelette they had created. Who would have thought they would spend the evening creating culinary greats and discussing Superheroes and Star Wars?

Smiling, Pen realised how grateful she was with the light relief the evening had offered. She had never realised Hotch was such a Stars Wars fan, no-one else had ever debated the merits of the prequel trilogy with her. However tonight it came up frequently in their conversations about _Star Wars_. Did we need to see the path of Anakin Skywalker from such a young age? Did Qui-Gon need to die so soon? Did Obi-Wan fail Anakin? The questions were endless and feelings had run strong, as they had discussed the various points around all of it.

And don't get her started again on the whole 'superhero fight off' discussions they had – pitching Marvel against DC greats. Penelope stood by her wish to see Wonder Woman kick The Hulk into touch. She had won the debate when she had reminded Hotch that Morgan, though not green skinned, could take down any monster they faced, but she could turn him to putty with her razor sharp wit. Muscles could be beaten by womanly wiles any day. Even Hotch had to admit defeat, though he had said that he was expecting her to talk Morgan into a Hulk costume for next year's Halloween just to prove the point. The challenge had been accepted. The thought of her Chocolate God painted green and running around in cut off jeans was beyond hilarious. She had nearly fallen off the seat with glee. Even now she felt the uncontrollable giggles return.

Looking around the office, she resolved that it was not all bad. It was possible she could make it more homely, a little touch here and there. Maybe she could send JJ out on an emergency supplies shopping trip tomorrow, yogurt, ice-cream and, of course, more jalapenos and eggs, she hadn't planned to cook for two this evening.

It was times like this that she had learned it was best to count her blessings, to appreciate all the positives in her life, no matter how small. She knew to appreciate her friends and all they do for her. How they had rallied round her, making sure she was safe. JJ had become her official BFF. She was the sister Pen had never had. Derek was a whole new category of his own. Her personal Adonis: taking eye candy to a new level. He made her feel safe, and sexy and appreciated. Spencer provided her with the challenge she needed – could she harness the power of her computers to take on him and his marvelous mind. If that covered her and her band of alternative siblings, Rossi was a super cheeky uncle of the family. The mischievous suggestions that pushed the boundaries, before Bossman Hotch reined them in. It was nowhere near conventional, and many had come and gone over the years but together they were strong enough to face anything.

Pulling her favourite crochet blanket up to her chin, Penelope settled down, knowing the sleep was finally close. Knowing that the hour or so her boss had spent with her had saved her sanity for a little longer. Knowing that she could get up tomorrow and resume her searches. Playing her role in tracking the people that were causing her to be cooped up in her. Together they would solve this and live to fight another day.

. . .

The greatest gift of life is friendship, and I have received it.

 **Hubert H. Humphrey, politician**


	10. Future Perfect

**Series 11 One-shots: Future Perfect**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

 **We are waiting for episodes to start showing over here in the UK again – not sure when it will start again. So this is the last update until we get some more. So please no spoilers for what is to come, as I will just have to wait and see.**

 **I will update as soon as I can see another episode.**

 **Before anyone picks me up on it there is no mention of Elle Greenaway in this as I am not aware that Rossi and Elle would ever have met. This will make sense soon – I hope.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt**

 **Rossi:** Dear Diary, Just when I thought I'd heard it all. . .

. . .

Sat in the warmth of his Little Creek cabin, David Rossi felt fully satisfied. The short break away from the realities of his working world was just what he needed. He would be able to face the manic world they lived in tomorrow. Sometimes he just needed to escape the mania and recharge his sanity. You couldn't do this job for as long has he had without it taking its toll.

As he sat watching the flickering flames of the fire he began to wonder what the limit to all of this was. It had been obvious that Gideon had met his limit, walking out and seeming to leave it all behind, though now they all knew he had continued to let the life they had shared eat away at him until it was literally the death of him.

Others had been wise to see that the BAU was not the place for them. Agent Todd had been quick to crack under the pressure. Seaver had given it her best shot but it was not for her either. More recently Blake had stepped away, having returned to prove herself once more, which she had more than done in his eyes. He wasn't willing to rule out the return of Callahan at some point, though there was no telling the impact the kidnapping would have on her and her family long term and they had to come first. He knew Lewis was struggling, juggling duel roles, he had to wonder which would give in the end.

Of course there were many more over the years that he had seen come and go. After all he was the only 'Founding Father of the BAU' left traipsing the Quantico corridors. His lips twitched from smiles to grimaces and back again as he recalled the fate of those he had worked alongside over the years. Sadly he wiped a solitary tear as he took a moment to remember Erin and all she had meant to him. She had changed so much, it was heart breaking to recall her fate.

He sipped the slug of whiskey he held in his hand as a sly smile graced his face. Emily Prentiss. Well no one could accuse her of taking the easy route out. Add to that the effort she had put into returning to the team, such a shame things just couldn't be the same after the deceit and lies. It wasn't that they hadn't understood why, it was more the concern that it was possible. Once bitten twice shy and all that. He sent a silent toast her way, wishing her well in the murky world she now frequented.

Dave knew he could retire, once more, without shame or embarrassment. He had more than done his time. Not that he intended on taking that route anytime soon. In all honestly he knew he should be the next one to go – but would it be him?

Getting up from the comfort of his armchair, Dave made his way over to the open bottle, refilling his glass. He wasn't ready for bed and was enjoying the company of his canine companion. It was aiding his calmness even more.

Returning to his fireside seat, Dave settled down, having brought the bottle back with him, he felt he might be in for a long night. He was content and right now that was all that mattered. Creature comforts, all a man of his maturity needed. Letting a foot rest against Mudgie, slowly ruffling his flat chocolate fur, Dave let his mind wonder once more to the team he cares so much about.

Aaron Hotchner had come a long way since they had first met, not that it was any surprise to Dave, he always knew the man was destined for the top, he could have easily stepped into Erin's shoes should he have so wished. Though there were days that Dave wondered how their Unit Chief was still with them. He had taken more than his fair share of batterings over the years, physically and mentally. It was amazing that he wasn't sectioned when you think about it. Yet he seemed to be stronger then ever. All that and still be a brilliant Dad to young Jack. The boy adored his father, and why wouldn't he?

He had Derek, albeit loved up now, who was equally as strong and constantly in his superiors shadow ready to support as necessary. The younger man had come a long way over the years. He was older and wiser, though still as headstrong as ever. Derek wore his heart on his sleeve. He wouldn't easily admit it but he was ruled by his emotions, but that made him good at what he did. It would be interesting to see how things panned out once Derek settled down and had a family of his own to defend.

Of course he couldn't forget the genius that is Dr Spencer Reid. Dave openly admitted he liked the lad, what was there not to like? The boy done good, Gideon had obviously been able to see past the stereotypical sweater vests and awkwardness. Though not as physically strong as his alpha male colleagues Reid was stronger mentally then many gave him credit for. He had to be to or he wouldn't still be with them. He rolled with every punch that life hit him with and came back ready to do it all again. Add to all of that the guilt and responsibility he felt for his mother and it was amazing the kid was still standing. Dave respected him for all he did.

Then there was JJ, media expert, profiler, mother and wife. Dave's mind boggled at how she managed to juggle all of that and find a balance. She was back from maternity leave, looking fabulous and fighting fit when many people would be on their knees begging for a good night's sleep. He wished he had half her stamina. Dave openly admitted he had never managed to balance being a husband and an Agent, yet she made all of this look so easy.

Lastly there was his own tech kitten, the girl was a genius in her own right. The one and only Penelope Garcia, no one compared to her. Right now she was the one he worried about the most. She was under immense pressure and they didn't seem to be getting any closer to solving the problem for her. He hated the thought of her all alone hidden in the offices, though it was better then her being hidden away with strangers, which was the only option Witness Protection could give. Penelope needed them all, right now, more than ever. It was the least they could do. After all she would be there for them, doing whatever was in her power to keep them safe. And not just them, their family too. She would ensure that no harm came to any of them. She was an amazing woman, the last person you would expect to find in the FBI, other then Reid of course.

Placing his empty glass down, Dave contemplated getting up and making his way to bed, but it would be a waste of a roaring fire. So instead he pulled a blanket over himself and settled in for the night. He'd regret it in the morning, he wasn't as young as he use to be, but it would be worth it.

Then tomorrow would be a fresh start. A chance to make a difference all over again. He wasn't ready to call it a day yet. His time hadn't come, even if it was hard to believe that he hadn't seen it all by now.

. . .

Life's most persistent and urgent question is, 'What are you doing for others?'

 **Martin Luther King, Jr.**


	11. Entropy

**Series 11 One-shots: Entropy**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **Happy dance – Criminal Minds is finally back on UK TV.**

 **And I start this chapter with a confession. I usually do something else (planning, prep, emails) while watching CM. However this ep had me hooked – like sat screaming at the TV, unable to move from my seat, likely to kill anyone that dared to interrupt hooked! Then they finished the ep the way they did and well . . . have mentioned how much I love Morgan and Reid moments?**

 **So then I got super excited and wanted to write straight away – for various reasons that didn't happen. Mind still buzzing I planned to write tonight. I am sure there are many versions of what could happen next regarding Reid and Morgan's end scene and this is my version. I apologise now if I have trod on anyone's toes (Nebula2!). I have deliberately not read any tagged stories until I write my own chapter.**

 **Here goes . . . (the actual prompt isn't from the final scene but this is a continuation of the end)**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Reid:** Morgan, you too!

 **Morgan:** I'm not going anywhere.

. . .

The cold night breeze ruffled his naturally unkempt hair as he sat, alone, on the swing. His mind was buzzing full of happy childhood memories. Spencer had often cursed the nature of his memory. All the things he had seen and experienced that he had wanted to forget and couldn't. Yet now he was terrified of losing it all – the good and the bad. Everything that made him, him!

What if he only remembered the worst bits? The bullies, the killers, those they hadn't saved.

What if he forgot his friends and all they had done for him? The good times they had shared, his Godsons, the family they had become.

What about all his books and the information? Would that be gone too?

Sniffing hard he tried in vain to hold back the tears. Just seeing the hint of dementia in his Mom was enough; it was heart breaking losing another part of her. Schizophrenia had been hard, but at least he had known each episode would end and his Mom would return. Dementia was something else, striping her identity away one piece at a time, never to be restored.

Reading the research and all the other information he could find was worse; imaging what was to come . . . for both of them. Of course he could be wrong. Spencer knew he _may_ not go onto develop dementia. Though with an almost 50:50 chance it wasn't the best of odds, but at least it was even and not heavily favoured against him. Yet he knew, just like the threat of Schizophrenia had gnawed away at him for years, this would too.

Sighing deeply, he stood, not knowing where he was heading.

"Hey Kid, I meant it when I said I wasn't going anywhere."

Turning Spencer could see Derek leaning against the railings surrounding the play area.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough." Derek stepped forward, examining Spencer's features. "I stand by what I have said before, not just tonight. I'm here for you, whatever it is, whatever time of day . . . or night. Understand?"

Nodding his head, Spencer looked down at his feet. Not wanting his colleague to see the tear stains on his cheek, though inside he knew it was too late. "I don't know if I am more afraid of losing my Mom or my mind," he suddenly blurted out.

Instantly Derek pulled him into a hug, not saying anything, just letting his younger colleague know he had him. That he was right there for him.

Letting the tears roll in earnest this time, Spencer sobbed onto Derek's leather clad shoulder. "I have got use to her episodes and the impact they had on her mood and memory but this . . . Dementia . . . Alzheimer's, combined with the Schizophrenia . . ." he couldn't finish saying what he was thinking.

Squeezing a little harder, Derek tried to soothe his friend. "Excuse my ignorance but isn't there anything that can be done to ease the symptoms?"

Spencer lifted his head and nodded, "Now they know that she has Early Onset Alzheimer's as well as Schizophrenia there are medications that may slow the decline. It is a case of finding the right combination for Mom."

"Then surely she's in the best place. They know your Mom well."

Spencer nodded, pulling away but still watching his feet rather then looking up.

"What about you?" Derek asked.

Shrugging Spencer looked up briefly before hanging his head down once more. He was aware he was shuffling but it was out of his control right now, not wanting the spotlight to fall on him. "Like I said I can't get tested, I'm too young."

"Right so it is something to bare in mind for the future should you want to put your mind at rest. Though I know that isn't going to help you come to terms with things right now." Derek placed his hand on Spencer's shoulder, "You have a lot to come to terms with and knowing you that means hours of reading and researching and cross referencing and all those things that Garcia does on a computer and you use your beautiful mind for. You are still processing the implications of what is going on, both for your Mom and you. Give yourself time and when you are ready, should you want it I am right here. I will do whatever I can to help."

"I know."

"Good, now if you think that the offer comes for free it doesn't." Derek decided to change tack and lift the mood; "I need you on back up tonight."

Spencer looked up quizzically, "We have another case?"

"Nope something far worse . . . drunk women. Well one in particular . . ." Derek smiled as he saw the hint of a smile on Spencer's face. "Please don't leave me alone with Garcia and Savannah. Love them both as I do I have a feeling they are plotting all sorts of things and I need a wingman. You got me?"

Smirking slightly, Spencer nodded, "You will kick down doors and stand face to face with a serial killer but you are scared of a drunken Garcia."

"You're a smart person, are you not scared of her?"

"Frequently."

"Good then we have an understanding, we've got each others back on this one."

"Always," Spencer replied with a shy smile.

"Always," Derek reiterated, before they headed home.

. . .

With something like cancer, there is a feeling that you can fight it in some way or control your response to it, but with dementia there is the fear of losing control of your mind and your life.

 **Kevin Whately, actor  
**


	12. Drive

**Series 11 One-shots: Drive**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **Personal opinion: I didn't think much to this episode, but loved the idea of Lewis doing up the car. Mainly because it brought back memories from my own childhood and helping my Dad with cars before going on to do up my own first few cars. Now I hold my hands up in defeat and hand it over to the garage. So this was fun to write and maybe has a hint of me in there.**

 **As you can tell we are a little behind over here in the UK, I am trying to avoid spoilers as I know there is a lot going on right now in Season 11 (Grrr, frustration doesn't begin to describe it), but other then going into hibernation (which is more than tempting) I cannot ignore the fact that Shemar has left the show. However I will say no more (at this point).**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Rossi:** That's the sound of the open road calling us

. . .

Tara sighed deeply, her eyes resting on the passing scenery. The sun was shining and they had left the busy city life behind and headed into the surrounding countryside. It was great to have a genuine day off with nothing more important to do then relax and enjoy the company of a colleague and now friend in a classic car on an open road.

"You should try heading out this way in the Fall."

Dave's voice interrupted her ever-wandering thoughts.

"The colours and views are amazing, nothing beats it."

"I can image," Tara said as she turned towards Dave, "I've always liked the fall."

"I often head out this way when I'm off to my cabin in Little Creek. Not the most obvious route but the most relaxing. I can tell a lot about how my time off is going to go by the passing scenes. Think this spell of good weather is going to last for a while now," Dave rambled, enjoying the world around him as he drove.

Settling back into the soft leather car seat, the smell of the recently applied conditioning product filled her senses, "I hope so," she muttered as her mind took her elsewhere. The smell was enough to send her back to her Dad's workshop, he used the same stuff on the cars he restored, so did she.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Dave asked with an arch of his brow as he glanced at her.

"Just thinking of my Dad and his cars. I can't remember a time without him smelling of engine oil and leather crème, and can't imagine him ever being without it. Though I think, no matter how proud of me he is, he would have loved me to go into business with him. Love my cars as I do I decided to take a different road, there are days I question my choices."

"You're close to your Dad," Dave commented, glancing at her once more. Tara had rested her head back and shut her eyes.

Tara laughed nervously, "Complete Daddy's Girl from the minute I was born according to my Mom. Sleepless nights were the bane of my father's life, I'd settle for him where my Mom didn't stand a chance."

"And he's still the person you call when you are awake at 2am, I bet."

"Yep, and he answers regardless," Tara added.

Dave nodded his head in understanding; "Tell me about him, if you want."

"What can I say, he's remarkable, but I'm biased. He has this crazy little workshop at home; I swear it hasn't change from the first day that I tottered in there to see what he was up to. Mom has begged him over the years to get it modernised but he insists the only way with classics is the hard way. He's a hands on kind of guy. He was a drinker," Tara turned away, her eyes focusing off in the distance, "Which means his job is now a hobby as he let down one too many customers."

"We all have our weaknesses, I have learnt through bitter experience that alcoholism is just as much of a disease as cancer, and it claims too many people each year." The remorse was evident in his voice.

"He's been sober for near four years now, losing his business was a real eye-opener. I was in the San Francisco offices when it all happened. I came back as soon as Mom told me but . . ."

"Proud man; didn't want to disappoint his daughter," Dave finished.

"Something like that.," Tara added, dismissing the conversation as she sat examining her finger nails.

They carried on in silence for sometime, before Tara continued; "I always remember there was this old Ford Convertible, I was in Kindergarten so have no idea what model, but I knew my makes before I knew my alphabet. Dad had been working on it for months, I use to go through and watch and ask what he was doing. I had an old crate that I use stand on to look under the hood and see what he was up to. This day he was working on the breaks. He had the wheels off and there were tools everywhere. The car was jacked up and he was underneath. I spent the whole afternoon there with him, passing him what he needed, crawling underneath to see what he was doing. When we went back in for tea Mom hit the roof, I was covered in dirt and grime and who knows what, but I was happy. I was hooked, from that day when Mom needed to find me I would be in there tinkering as Dad liked to call it."

Smiling Dave glanced at Tara once again, "And that is why you have that little beauty that you have restored."

"She was my first full solo project, Dad has really stood back and let me get on with this one. Though I do think he has physically had to sit on his hands at times. I would catch him watching me, smiling, not saying anything. Sometimes he'd be shaking his head. I made mistakes but she's mine, all mine."

"It's a good feeling," Dave agreed, "We'll have to bring her out for a run next time instead of this old lady." Dave stroked the steering wheel fondly as he spoke.

"That we will," Tara agreed.

. . .

Life is a journey that must be traveled no matter how bad the roads and accommodations.

 **Oliver Goldsmith, writer  
**


	13. Bond

**Series 11 One-shots: The Bond**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **I know they are building up to some big episodes but again this wasn't an easy episode to write for, though I thought it was an interesting idea. That said my prompt might not be what you expected and I may have gone off on a tangent (again).**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Flora Martin:** What more could a mother ask for?

. . .

Settling down on the slightly battered couch, 'well loved' she liked to think of it. The centre of a family home, of the Morgan family home, was where Fran made herself comfy. Sipping on her tea, she sighed. It had been a long day, busy doing nothing. She liked days like today when she could potter, getting odd jobs done as she went about her day to day business. There was no way she could account for anything she had done today but she was exhausted none the less.

Deciding against watching another night of catch up TV, instead Fran let the silence envelope her. It was a sound she hadn't taken to easily, in fact there were still days when she couldn't cope with the lack of noise. Having had three children rampaging around the place for so many years, none of which could be described a quiet. Followed by the loud boisterous teenage years. Even as adults she always knew they were there, then being home alone was a total contrast. She smiled remembering the fun they had had together, the quarrels and the teasing. They may have faced tough times but together they had come out stronger and united.

Fran was proud of her three children. Without a doubt they had all grown up to fulfil their potential as only they could. They used their compassion, their strength and their empathy to bring out the best in others and overcome any obstacle that faced them. All three were fiercely independent, yet protective of others, even more so of each other. Family came first and foremost.

Fran didn't view her children through rose tinted glasses; they all had their faults. Just like their strengths, some they inherited from her and some from their father. They were all an interesting mix of their parents.

Sarah had a quick temper; she had been known to flare up before thinking on numerous occasions, as a child and an adult. Fran had lost count of the phone calls from school saying Sarah was in trouble for losing her temper with someone; frequently it had something to do with protecting her 'baby brother'. Even as an adult, after she had lost her fist job through an uncontained outburst, Sarah hadn't learnt. She was blunt and defensive when her back was up, but there was always a valid reason behind her reaction.

In contrast the youngest of her girls, Desiree, was more patient and calmer then her hot headed elder siblings. Not that anyone got one over her. She didn't miss anything, constantly watching and learning from those around – just like she had learnt from her sister and brother as a toddler. Desiree didn't hide in their shadows; she stood solidly on her own two feet. Having held her own against her siblings she had the confidence to take on the world. Nothing was too big or too much of a challenge for the feisty young lady. Which meant it hit hard when she did fall. Luckily her determination was quick to kick in and move her forward.

All of that said Fran was still close to her daughters. They were home every weekend and usually at some point during the week. Round for dinner or just a cup of tea. Keeping her up to date with the comings and goings in their lives. The highs and lows – even now she received the tears and the laughter just as she had as they were growing up. Just now the problems usually needed more than a Band-Aid to fix them.

However Derek, her 'baby boy' as the girls teased him, wasn't around. There was no doubt he was definitely a Mommy's Boy, the number of calls she got from him was testament to that. Not that it held him back in anyway. Her son had smashed through every goal he had set himself – out to prove himself to anyone who was looking.

Yet it was him that she worried about the most. Not because he was her favourite or any of the other nonsense that Sarah and Desiree dreamed up. Not just because he was away from home or because of the job he did. Though that was a worry in its own right.

It was his impulsive nature that concerned her most, even as young boy she had seen it in him. The way his gut reaction led over his head all the time. It made him good on the field and a star player, his quick reflexes frequently saving the day.

They still did from the stories he told, and knowing Derek he curtailed them somewhat to try and reduce her level of worry. It didn't work. Even now she held her breath each time the phone rung, not breathing again until she had answered and knew it wasn't 'that call'. She had lost one man in her life though his impulsive actions she didn't want to lose another. Fran knew that in both cases, her husband and her son, their actions were born of concern for others and their inbuilt protective natures.

Finishing her tea Fran placed the cup down onto the dark wooden coffee table. Leaning back she closed her eyes, not that she planned to go to sleep, just to relax. Many people showed her sympathy and pity when they heard about Hank and how he died. They showed concern that she lived alone in the neighbour that had been the family home. Yet she didn't want sympathy or concern. She was a proud woman; independent, feisty some might say. She was able to stand on her own two feet; she'd had to. Equally she'd had to learn to control her temper and be the role model her children had needed.

Thinking about the adults they had become Fran allowed herself a moment of smugness. She hadn't done too bad a job. Three smart, polite, independent and determined people, following the role model she had tried hard to be.

What more could a mother ask for?

. . .

Motherhood: All love begins and ends there.

 **Robert Browning, Poet  
**


	14. Hostage

**Series 11 One-shots: Hostage**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **Another interesting and disturbing episode, found the whole idea soooo creepy. The girls/actresses did an amazing job.**

 **I think after the last chapter being a bit of a curve ball this one may be a little more obvious.**

 **Author's note: The end quote I have used is the rest of the quote from Samuel Johnson that the show used and I have used as a prompt.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Hotch:** "Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice." Samuel Johnson

. . .

He knew before she arrived, he could read her tells as clearly as he could read the storybooks Henry loved so much. It would start with the call, if it weren't too late. There would be no pleasantries, just a sharp request to speak to Henry, and Michael now of course. It was like her life depended on her hearing them. He got that, he knew what impact his job had on his sanity at times, and he could see the effect it had on his wife. He still wondered most days how she managed to juggle being a mother, a wife and a FBI agent.

If the phone call was the first tell then the lack of text messages when he knew she was travelling home was the next. Mostly they would playfully banter when she was on the flight, teasing each other as only they knew how. But he knew not to try and engage in such playfulness once he had received the call. So tonight he had done all he usually did, sent the usual message to reassure her:

 _Waiting for you, you know I'm here for yo x_

He knew she didn't need to hear the words, he knew she would come to him when she was ready – she always did. Will excepted there was a process to her dealing with whatever had sparked off the fall out. He guessed it involved children, it usually did. Find him the cop, agent or such like that didn't struggle on a case involving children and he would openly call them a liar, or demand a full psych evaluation because there was obviously something seriously wrong with them.

Quickly he silenced the TV, the sound of her key in the lock breaking him from his train of thought. And so it began . . .

. . .

JJ slipped quietly through the door, shutting it behind her she removed her boots and hung up her coat, having dropped her bags as soon as she was safely inside. Tiptoeing down the hallway she paused by the open lounge door, looking in on Will. He was pretending to read a book, she couldn't see the title, and she knew he was pretending as she had heard the now silent TV when she had opened the door. Yet dutifully he hid the fact that he was worried about her, even though she knew he was.

"Hey," she murmured.

Instantly he looked up, his face etched with concern, "Hey."

"I'm just going to check on the boys and then . . ."

"Sure," Will replied, a reassuring smile let her know he knew that she would come and talk as soon as she was ready.

Leaving Will be she made her way up to Henry's room first. Silently entering she instantly adjusted his bedclothes; which were so tightly wrapped around him that she could barely find him. Once she had burrowed through the mass of superhero covers and blankets JJ ruffled the mass of blonde hair that popped out. Now she could hear his soft breathing as he slept deeply. The boy could take an age to actually drop off to sleep, he always had struggled to settle, but once he was asleep nothing woke him. JJ was grateful as it meant she was able to sit with him on nights like this knowing that he would sleep through her need for his company.

Seating herself on the floor by his bed JJ could feel her own stress levels drop with each hitch of his breath. He was the best therapy she could ever imagine, and now she was lucky enough to have a double dose.

After several minutes, though it seemed like barely moments, JJ pulled herself up and left her eldest son in peace. Kissing him softly before she went, a smile tugging at her mouth.

Making her way to the room that was now Michael's nursery she slipped inside. The soft snoring confirmed that he was fast asleep, fingers crossed he would be for several hours yet, but JJ knew it might not be the case. Michael's an early riser, up with the larks as her Mum would say, too bloody early was JJ's response. She busied herself checking his temperature before pulling over an extra blanket. He was a natural born wriggler, if that boy didn't sit, crawl and walk early it would be a shock. The babe was never still, even in his sleep his little fingers flexed and grasped at nothing. Carefully JJ laid her own finger across the tiny palm, relishing in the feeling of his fingers wrapping around hers. Leaning across the crib bars she watched his delicate features as he dreamed his way through the 101 things he had seen and experienced throughout the day. JJ sighed deeply, having found comfort in her sons. Slowly she extracted her finger from his gentle grasp and like she had with Henry placed a parting kiss on the infant.

Leaving the nursery JJ made her way back towards the lounge and Will. The door was still open and Will was still 'reading'.

. . .

"Hey," Will heard her before he saw her.

"Hey, again!" he replied as he placed the book down on the floor by the couch, "Want a drink? Tea? Something stronger?"

JJ shook her head, he blonde hair flicking and tumbling back across her shoulders as she did so. Sitting down beside him, she was quick to slump into his side.

Instinctively Will wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. He didn't speak instead he waited, ready to listen. He knew she would talk, eventually. So he played the waiting game, enjoying having her by his side once again.

"I don't know what I would do if anything happened to the boys."

The words were just blurted out. Will didn't respond directly, but he stroked her hair, soothing her.

"I couldn't bear to lose them."

Will felt her turn her head, aware that her eyes were in him. He looked down to meet her gaze.

"I'm with you on that one Baby, you know that. Those two tiny terrors are my world. I adore them, but they are safe, you and I are both ultra vigilant. Henry is really clued up and has his head screwed on." It was obvious his words hadn't done the job. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek until he caught it and wiped it away.

"Jay, Baby, I would kill for those boys, even if I ended up doing time. I would protect them with my life, and I know you would too. We are doing the best we can with both of them to keep them safe. We know more than most parents the importance of all that we teach them and we are in the best position to teach them well. What happened? What shook you up so bad? I know from what you told me on the flight out that there were two girls who had turned up having been abducted several years ago."

"The girls were bad enough. We found a third, she was totally brainwashed by him," she sobbed, "It was heart breaking; she didn't want to accept her family when we brought them in to see her. She had forgotten them. . . but . . ."

"But . . ." Will prompted.

"One of the girls died. Her Mom shot the UnSub."

"Good on her." Will blurted out instinctively.

Instantly he could feel JJ's eyes examining him. "Are you going to tell me you wouldn't do the same if it had been Henry or Michael?"

"That's the problem . . . I don't know. I want to say no. That I believe in justice . . . but . . ."

He nodded encouraging her to talk it through.

"Given the chance I might take revenge."

"I sure would, sorry Honey, but I can't deny it. If the Son of a Bitch had caused my kids death and if he had held one of them captive throughout their childhood I would take any chance I was given to get him. If he had done what you said then . . ."

JJ looked down, "We had to arrest her. She placed the gun down and stood there waiting for us to take her away. It was obvious that she had nothing left to lose, that he had taken everything that had ever mattered to her and now it was over and her questions answered, she was finished."

Will pulled her close once more. He didn't want to debate the rights and wrongs of what the mother had down. He sure hoped she had a good lawyer who would push for temporary insanity as a plea - that and an understanding jury, who were mainly parents and more likely to support her actions. None of that was important right now.

The bigger picture was that JJ was concerned about her own morality. She was questioning what she would do in the same situation. One that he prayed they would never face. So instead of trying to discuss the matter he accepted the silence that had fallen over them and held her close, letting her know that, no matter what, he was there.

. . .

Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.

 **Samuel Johnson, Author  
**


	15. A Badge abd A Gun

**Series 11 One-shots: A Badge and A Gun**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **Great episode I thought for the team dynamics, I had so many prompts from this one. In the end I settled with this one – bit of a tangent again and I am sure it directly relates to me watching the Ep Elephant's Memory again recently.**

 **I will do my best to keep onto of this now but I will be honest work is a nightmare.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Garcia:** Some high school girls lured Meeks into the gym.

. . .

The dark scared him, in a primal fear way. It was the source of his nightmares; pure darkness, the absence of light. So many myths and legends were built around it that it was no wonder everyone at some point had imaged monsters lurking unseen under beds or in closets. Shadows moved and formed bigger, larger shapes that seemed to morph into anything within the realms of your imagination. Everything that was hidden away in your mind seeped back out, inching its way towards the edge, so you could see it but not clearly distinguish it.

That was why there was a light on in every room of his apartment. Not the main one in each room but a lamp of some kind, all strategically placed to maximise the light and minimise the shadows. All done to keep the nightmares at bay on nights like this. The nights when something had brought it all back.

Eidetic memory, a gift they say. In many ways it was. The ability to memorise everything at one quick glance: scanning through page after page of information to be able to regurgitate hours, weeks, months, years later. Passing exams with flying colours when others had studied slavishly and failed. Being able to enjoy the magic of a favourite book without physically having it there.

Recalling happy memories vividly. But alongside the happy memories lurked the unhappy memories.

Many spawned by the curse of his talents. Genius was the official label that teachers where quick to use. Pride swelling in them as if they were personally responsible for his grades and IQ, what a great job they had all done. While behind them his so-called 'friends' had jeered. Peers heckling him for the very same reason that adults praised him. He couldn't do right for doing wrong.

The more he got the answers right the worse it got. The sneers became, bumps and shoulder barges down the corridors, which lead to legs sticking out to trip him or a kick as he passed. The years lead to a build up of abuse the culminated in . . .

Spencer swallowed hard, teetering on the edge of a memory he had no wish to recall. The book he had been attempting to read lay open in his hand, his gaze faraway for the safe black words of the page. He couldn't focus on the pages that he had sought out as his saviour. Tonight they were offering no comfort what so ever, his normal sanctuary shutting the metaphorical doors.

Even with the security of his lamp beside him, he could feel the darkness encroaching. The case and all Meeks had endured being enough to unlock Pandora's box, allowing the flood of memories from his school days to be released, unwanted.

School had been hard for him . . .

Shaken form his thought, Spencer startled at the sound of his buzzer. Glancing at his watch he was concerned at a visitor he wasn't expecting. Rising slowly from his chair he sulked towards the intercom, his instinct on guard.

"Yes?" he questioned at the press of the button.

"Hey fellow Genius, I come baring gifts."

Instantly he calmed as he recognised Garcia's voice.

"I'll come down and meet you."

"Don't worry just buzz and I'll make my way up. Leave the door open while you put your coffee machine, kettle, whatever on . . . we will need coffee."

"Do you know the statistics of opportunity crimes taking place during trusting actions between friends in apartment blocks?"

"Nope, but you have a gun so it will be ok. Now open the door before I drop something while I juggle pressing your button with the little treats I have."

Spencer sighed, pressing the button to release the door before unlocking his apartment door, making a mental note to talk to Garcia about her personal safety and home security at a more opportune moment.

Shuffling back towards the kitchen he automatically followed her request to put on his coffee machine as he wondered what he had done to deserve a Garcia visit and just what 'gifts' she had brought with her. He wasn't really in the mood for company but had experience Garcia on a mission before and knew she didn't give in easily. Submission was the gallant thing to do in the situation.

"So, as I was saying, I come baring gifts." Her voice rang out as she entered the apartment; Spencer stepped out of the kitchen to meet her. "I have the latest Dr Who box set, cookies – homemade of course, lava strength coffee care of our very own Italian Stallion, the makings of some mega popcorn and of course my sparkling wit."

Spencer stepped into the lounge and looked at her. His body language screamed how uncomfortable he was with her invasion. "To what to I owe the pleasure?"

"Well . . . lets just say I had a feeling that, you may not know it, but you could do with some company; something other then that marvellous mind of yours. Genius you are, without a doubt, but that doesn't mean you have all the right answers. I am offering to distract you from whatever it was that was eating you up – and don't try and deny it. I may not be a profiler but right now I can read you like a book Dr Reid."

Instantly Spencer's eyes dropped, he knew she was right. He had tried everything he could to avoid thinking about all that his mind was processing. Glancing up he saw the smile on Garcia's face.

"See, you know I am right. You are officially in charge of the coffee, need to be wide eyed to get through this lot," she waved the DVD collection in her hand, "I'll sort the popcorn." Dropping the box set on the couch she headed towards the kitchen.

As she did Spencer put his hand on her arm; "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

. . .

"One's dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered."  
 **Michael J. Fox**


	16. Derek

**Series 11 One-shots: Derek**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **How many times can I apologise for real life interrupting my fun. Sorry.**

 **OMG! Yes we are on catch up over in the UK. Yes I know where this is heading. Yes I am a Derek Morgan fan. However I wasn't convinced by this episode. I think the insight into his past was great but I don't think it lived up to the hype. Sorry, personal opinion – feel free to disown me for it.**

 **One thing that really bugged me with the whole episode – where were Fran and his sisters in all of this? Sorry you can't tell me they wouldn't have been on the first flight!**

 **However I am going to play with the mental state of Derek Morgan a little more – just because I love to. This is set while he is unconscious in hospital.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Morgan:** How long?

 **Garcia:** Three days

. . .

The pain had gone. It didn't hurt anymore. All he felt was exhaustion, beyond anything he had ever felt before. He felt heavy, unable to move, to respond. He willed his eyes to open just long enough to . . .

Derek could hear voices, the words coming and going, patchy. Some were more distinguished than others, there were those he knew and he could make out who was saying what, while others blurred into each other or some he sworn he'd never heard them before. If he could just open his eyes and tell them . . .

. . . what would he tell them?

He'd start with Hotch. Not the most obvious choice, but as the team leader it seemed the best place to start. Derek had made out the voice of his leader - the quiet but commanding questions he asked. Derek could sense the authority when he was in the room. Hotch demanded respect without saying a word and if he didn't get it then the look was enough to set anyone straight.

Derek wasn't going to deny the fact that he and Hotch had butted heads on one or two occasions. Yet he respected Hotch and his leadership. He wanted to thank him for everything he had done over the years. The opportunities Hotch had given him. Hotch had pushed him hard, drawing on his strengths and developing his weaknesses. He had proved to Derek that trust was possible and necessary in a team like theirs. He had made Derek believe in himself, his ability to lead. Hotch had made it clear that the path was laid for Derek to be king of the jungle one day, should the day ever come for Hotch to move on or step away.

That thought alone filled Derek with dread. Would he be able to hold the team together the way Hotch had done every time something or someone threated to break them down? His shoulders were broad but could they carry the weight as well as Hotch did?

JJ was next in Derek's mind. Inwardly he smiled, knowing his body wasn't getting the messages his brain was sending out – not responding by showing the room the smile he had, as it should. He appreciated JJ and her strength. She was one of the best. Derek was proud to call her a colleague and a friend.

There was so much about her that he admired. She was a top rate profiler, calmly processing information and applying her skills. She had the confidence to question others yet was open to suggestions too. Physically she pushed herself to every possible limit. If he allowed himself to analyses her motivation he would be quick to see her need to be able to hold her own within the male dominated world. She didn't need to worry, she outshone many the FBI had to offer.

Yet JJ was also a wife and a mother, doing the one thing none of the men had managed so far. She had successfully balanced life and work. Derek had no idea what it was like to bring up a baby, though he was certain he was soon to find out. Would he be able to balance having a family and the BAU? Would he and Savannah support each other the way Will and JJ did? Could he do as good a job as she did on a couple of hours sleep?

Next his thoughts went to Rossi. He had been a difficult one. Derek hadn't appreciated Rossi's return to the FBI. The team had not needed another alpha-male. Yet there he was as bold as brass. It had taken Derek some time to trust the older agent. Trying to figure out the motivation for his re-joining. It was a simple one; after solving a lifelong problem, he wanted to put his knowledge and skills to good use. He wanted what the whole team wanted – to rid this world of one more bad guy.

However there was much more to David Rossi then met the eye. It was easy to label him, to judge him on his outwards signs of bravado and wise-cracking humour. Yet getting to know the man over the years they had worked together Derek had an appreciation for his dedication. The man was relentless, never giving up. Running alongside his rugged determination was a softer side, the heart that made it important that he did well. Of course finding out he was a father and Grandfather had only increased the impact.

Derek looked up to Rossi. It was who he wanted to be in so many ways. Not a millionaire with a reputation, but a seasoned profiler who's views were respected by many. Could he ever be a good as David Rossi? Would he be capable of filling that particular pair of shoes?

In stark comparison was Spencer Reid. Where did he start with Pretty Boy? The Kid was a genius in every sense of the word. His intelligence was mind blowing, beyond anything Derek had ever imagined was possible. Yes he had teased his younger colleague over the years but laying here, listening, he enjoyed hearing Spencer reel off some random facts. If they didn't reassure those in the room at the time, they reassured Derek. He made a mental note not to cut Spencer short the next time he was in statistical flight, instead he would tell him how inspiring he found working with him.

A totally different inspiration to anything Hotch or Rossi offered him. Derek was not only in awe of Spencer's immense natural talent. Added to it was the personal growth Spencer had gone through since joining the team. Which came on top of the constant battles he had faced throughout his childhood.

Derek had his own set of demons that had taunted him over the years. What hadn't killed him made him stronger. However, Spencer Reid was viewed by outsiders as weak, he wasn't and Derek knew that. Could he be as strong as Spencer? Could he come out of being tortured and return to work? Could he battle through the fall out of his captivity? Derek knew Spencer's journey had been a rocky one, but he had done it. Could he do it?

Last was his Baby Girl, his one and only Baby Girl. Yes he had Savannah who he loved with all his heart. She was the one, he knew that now, he knew it anyway, but this had proved it. But Penelope Garcia was something else, his solace and his saviour. He knew she was there. He could smell her sweet perfume. He could sense her fussing round him. He could hear her reassurance – to him and all around him.

He loved her; in a way he loved no other. It wasn't comparable to his love for Savannah. It didn't match his love for his sisters. It was something unique to them. Something he had never experienced before and knew he would never be lucky enough to experience again. Her faith in good and belief that everything happened for a reason was contagious. Her smile and bright, bubbly nature lifted him out of even the foulest mood. She had an innate ability to know exactly what to say and when to say it. Her gestures, no matter how small, were always appreciated and acted out with care and thought to the recipient. The world needed more like her. Fortunately for the BAU she was all theirs.

Derek hoped he had supported her as well as she had him. Had he always been there? Had he always done the best he could for her? Did he deserve such an amazing friend?

Feeling sleep encroach on him once more Derek's mind began to wander. He could hear Savannah's voice. He knew exactly what he was going to say to her when he woke. Things he should have said before today. But what would she say?

. . .

Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.

 **Helen Keller, Author  
**


	17. The Sandman

**Series 11 One-shots: The Sandman**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **Huge apology – I forgot to post this chapter! I now realise why because I just wasn't happy with it when I first wrote it then with everything else that was going on forgot about it and carried on regardless. Now that I have edited and hopefully it works. Thanks for your support.**

 **Yes this is another Derek filled chapter – sorry I love writing Derek and the thought of going cold turkey is causing me to binge. However I am tempering this with a good helping of Reid. Got to love these two's relationship, haven't you?**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Reid:** You're about to be a Dad. You know you'd expect the world to start to feel different.

. . .

Derek knew he had promised Savannah he would take it easy, but she had pulled the late shift and wouldn't be home until the early hours, so in theory would be none the wiser. Besides the last think he wanted right now was to be home alone. He needed to be around people even if it was the splattering of night staff and cleaners. It jest meant he wasn't alone. So instead he sat by himself in his now darkened office. A small pool of light from the solitary desk lamp flooded the unfinished paperwork that sat in front of him. The hum of a hoover could be heard in the background. It was distraction enough.

Shifting in his black leather chair, Derek reached down and pulled an envelope from his workbag. Slowly opening it a smile crept across his unusually sombre face. Carefully removing the single image and holding it in his large hand, his grin was suddenly wider then ever.

Baby Morgan.

Derek sat and studied the scan image that he now carried with him everywhere. Having it nearby was comforting and reassuring – plus there were times when it still didn't seem real. Even now, looking at the evidence in front of him, Derek struggled to process he was going to be a Dad . . . soon. His head filled with a rush of confused emotions . . . pride, fear, love, panic . . . You name it he felt it.

"Can I see?"

Startled by the unexpected interruption Derek looked up at the doorway with a frown. Knowing who was there purely by the voice. Though he had thought his younger colleague had left a while ago like the rest of the team.

"Sure," with a nod he indicated that Spence should take a seat opposite him.

Spencer crossed the room in two long strides, removing his satchel as he sat down. Immediately he reached for the already offered image. Instinctively he smiled. His nose twitching slightly as he took in every detail. "You know ultrasound dates back to 1794. Lazzaro Spallanzani believed that bats were the first to use it. The first tests using actual sounds waves were conducted in 1826. However it wasn't used medically until 1942 when Dr Karl Dussik used it to diagnose brain tumours . . ."

Holding up a hand as he laughed, Derek hated to interrupt the genius mid flow, "Whoa, enough, I don't think you called up here on your way out to give me a history lesson on the development of ultrasound."

Looking mildly embarrassed, Spencer passed the scan back. "No . . . I didn't. Do you know if it's a boy or a girl? You can't tell in that image as it has its legs crossed."

Derek chuckled once more, "Nope, the little cutie wasn't going let us know. Though to be honest I didn't want to know. Kinda looking forward to the surprise. The nursery is green and cream so suits either. We can add to it once the little one arrives. Though my gut instinct is still for a boy."

"Is Savannah's bump low?"

"Ur I don't know? It's kinda here," Derek looked confused and indicated around his middle as he pushed his chair back from the desk. "Why?"

Spencer rolled his eyes, "High bump for a girl and low bump indicates a boy. How about the heart rate? Is it on the scan image? If its above . . ."

"No," Derek snatched the image up off the desk, clutching it to his chest as Spencer leant forward. "I told you I'm happy to wait and see. Don't go spoiling the surprise. Look kid, I appreciate the efforts and totally forgot you learnt all this stuff when JJ was expecting but honestly why are you here?"

"You won't be able to call me that soon . . . Kid . . . You'll have one of your own to call Kid," deliberately avoiding eye contact as much as he was avoiding Derek's question.

Derek smiled, "Nope only one Kid in my family and that's you. He'll have to be Buddy or something. It will come to me. You are still avoiding telling me why you are still here a couple of hours after everyone else has gone home? You ok?"

"Why are you still here? You ok?" Spencer countered straight back, looking Derek in the eyes for the first time since he had walked into the room.

Slouching back in his dark leather chair Derek looked down at the image in his hand once more, his head twitched slightly as he sighed and answered. "Paperwork. I have got out of the habit . . . it's taken me longer then usual."

"When you lie you have a slight twitch to the left, you try hard to control it which means you noticeably tense. This is also part of the 'fight or flight' response our bodies instinctively do when we feel under pressure. While I'm talking your breathing is getting heavier . . . all in all I would confidently say that was a lie."

"Sorry did the rules change regarding profiling each other while I was off?" Derek shot back, a little harsher then he meant to. Instantly he saw the hurt look on Spence's face and dropped his face down in embarrassment.

"No but I have played poker with you often enough to know your tells. You can't bluff me, " Spence replied, quick to recover from the sting of Derek's words.

Raising his eyes up to meet Spencer's Derek sighed once more, this time in preparation to tell the truth. "I didn't want to be home . . . alone. Savannah's working and . . ."

Fiddling with his fingers Spencer looked away, he knew where this conversation was going and was instantly uncomfortable. "After . . ." he paused, steading himself to talk about the 'unspeakable'. "After Hankel . . . I . . ." Spencer chewed his bottom lip, it was harder then he had imaged, images flooding his mind clouding the clarity he needed. "Part of me wanted to be alone, away from the looks of pity and the questions and the reassurance. Alone I could . . . well you know . . . escape." He gulped at his unashamed attempt to brush over his addiction. "But when I was alone . . . once I'd had my fix . . . I craved company. I needed to know there was someone there."

"Hey Kid . . . It's not that." Derek reached a hand across his desk but it was too late, Spencer had already recoiled into himself. "Not fully anyway." Derek willed the younger man to look up at him, to see his eyes pleading him to return, "I'm not going to patronise you. I am battling my own demons from what happened but I haven't got the added problems you faced. What you went through afterwards . . . seeing you struggle to face it all, it made me realise I needed help straight away. I've been seeing a counsellor from day one and got the number of speed dial just in case. Yes I'm scared but it's as much about what is to come as what has happened."

"You have always been there for me. No matter what! I knew, when I was high, when I crashed, you were there. You have always told me to call, whatever the time, just call. I didn't, when I should have, because I didn't want you to be ashamed of me, to see me like . . . that. Maybe if I hadn't have been so stubborn and proud, maybe . . ." his voice trailed off. Suddenly Spencer's eyes rose to meet Derek's. "It works two ways. I mean it Derek, I here for you."

With a wide grin Derek stood and walked round the table, pulling Spencer to his feet and into a hug. "I know . . . I know." Stepping away with a final pat on Spence's shoulders Derek rested on the edge of his desk. Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to, they were closer then words could describe.

"Look Rossi's invited me to one of his poker games. How about we head back to mine and you help me work on my tell." Derek finally spoke, trying to lift the mood from the heavy tone it had taken.

Laughing with relief that the conversation was over, Spencer collected his bag from the floor, "How about we work on your game strategy first. I don't want that baby to come into world knowing his father has lost all his college fund due to poor game."

"Poor game," Derek collected his stuff, laughing, "No-one has ever accused me of poor game."

Both men made there way towards the door, "Yeah but in poker you smile doesn't tend to get you what you want. You are applying the wrong techniques to the situation."

"I can't believe you seriously think you can school me," Derek added as he shut the office door behind him. Closing inside it the weight that had lifted from both sets of shoulders.

"Not in one night . . . but I might be able to reduce the embarrassment when you play on Saturday. Rossi and his guys play hard. They might dress it up in beer, cigars and sarcasm but they are serious. I know, seeing then collectively banned me the once Rossi asked me to join him. Made enough that night to buy my Mom a first edition."

Derek flung an arm around his friend shoulder, pulling him close and ruffling his already unkempt hair. "Whatever would I do without you?"

. . .

Unfortunately for him, he's stuck with me for life now.

 **Jared Padalecki, actor**


	18. Beautiful Disaster

**Series 11 One-shots: Beautiful Disaster**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **Yes I cried my eyes out, but not until the moment with Spence at the end. OMG so well played. I hope this chapter goes somewhere towards playing tribute to Derek Morgan. Going to miss him but looking forward to finding new ways to play with the team.**

 **On a personal note – sorry updates are taking so long. I have had some news recently that has knocked me for six and well to be honest I'm struggling. I will update as soon as I can.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Reid:** Then believe this . . . our team loves you and we are not going to stop until we find out who did this.

. . .

Aaron settled back into his plush office chair. Staring at the file in front of him. Derek Morgan's FBI photo stared back at him. He understood fully why the younger man was stepping away and, though there was part of him that never expected he'd face this day, in many ways it didn't surprise him. Derek was a family man; he was close to his mother and sisters. Any rough analysis of the stereotypical alpha-male would be quick to make the link between losing his father and his overtly protective nature towards the team. A characteristic that was calling out for its own family to nurture, there was no doubt that Derek would be a fantastic father. In fact Aaron admired Derek for doing what he, himself, had never done. Would things have been different for his own family if he had put them before the job? What Haley still be his wife? Would she still be here?

Leaning forward Aaron sighed as he filed the exit interview into the folder and shut the documents inside. Physically closing a chapter in Derek Morgan's life . . . and ending another chapter for the team.

Standing he gathered his things, leaving to go home, to be father to his amazing son. Without a doubt Aaron believed Derek had made the right choice, fatherhood took time, it didn't all come naturally. It was hard work, but the best job in the world.

. . .

Stroking the soft fur on the head of his faithful companion, David flicked aimlessly through the numerous unnecessary channels. There had been a point a few years ago that he had believed that it would be him and Mudgie to the end. They did everything together and without a damn for anyone else. So much had changed in less then a decade.

Mudgie, his loving lab, struggled to do much other then mooch around the house most days. Their hunting days were long over. Yet less then ten years ago Dave and Mudgie had spent days out in the woods together. Now the worse the mutt faced was a cuddles and snuggles from Jack or Henry and even the rare visit from Kai. It was those moments that made Dave realise the family he had found.

Not just the daughter, son-in-law and grandson he had been unaware of for the twenty-nine years Joy had been alive. But also the amazing team he worked with, that had morphed into more than colleagues. He was surrounded by people that mattered more to him then he every thought possible. They had stopped his journey into a lonely retirement.

Derek Morgan was lucky enough to be starting the journey he only wished he had been able to take. He was entering fatherhood, ready to experience every possible moment. Ready to let little Hank Spencer take away every moment of pain his parents had gone through getting him here . . . together . . . a family.

. . .

JJ supported her son as she rinsed the bubbles from her youngest as her eldest giggled at the other end of the bathtub. "Just what is so funny Mister?" she finally asked, a playful smile wide across her face.

"Michael's face."

JJ looked down at Michael whose infantile features were screwed up.

"Don't think he likes his hair being washed, do you?" she asked.

Henry shook his head; his own wet locks slapping from cheek to cheek.

"At least he's not crying tonight. In fact I think he likes to hear you laugh. I know I do." Her comments were instantly rewarded with another round of giggles, followed by his rapid exit from the tub.

"What now?" she giggled.

"He's peeing!" Henry squealed as he streaked from the bathroom.

JJ looked down, and sighed before lifting Michael from the bath. Wrapping him tightly in a towel he was quick to snuggle into her as she carried him through to the nursery. She could hear Henry in his own room; it was obvious Will was there too. Becoming a big brother had down wonders for his independence, though they both liked to be nearby to offer a hand. As she dried and readied Michael for bed she couldn't help but wonder how Derek was fairing with his own son. She had already received a couple of text with random 'is it normal' questions that she, from experience knew were no big deal, but first time round are enough to send even the calmest person into a spin. She was just glad he felt he could ask. She would always be here for him, no mater what.

. . .

Sat in his lounge Spencer stared at the chessboard in front of him. The game he had started weeks ago and he just hadn't found the time to finish it. However now his mind wasn't able to focus. He couldn't plot the outcome, the efficient moves to ensure a win, even though he was playing himself.

Frustrated he walked away from the game. Standing by the window, he considered pulling the blind to block out the darkness that had set in. He hadn't realised how long he had sat there until he had seen that day had become night. It wasn't like him to procrastinate like this; he always strived to keep his mind busy. In fact the last time he was knowingly this listless was . . . after Maeve.

Sighing again, Spencer let the blind close over the dark view, steering his mind away from memories he didn't want to revist. As he did his eyes settled on the photocard he had placed on the bookshelf. The serene features of Hank Spencer Morgan were radiating from the picture.

Why did he feel when he had lost so much when they had gained another member of the family? He was happy for Derek and didn't need a photo to understand why. Yet . . . his big brother had now left the family home to start life with his new family.

. . .

A bundle of blue green beads lay on the table where she had placed it. Removing the layers as she headed to the bedroom. Her brightly coloured dress was strewn across her deep aubergine bedspread. Other items dotted the path to the bathroom that was already filling with steam.

Penelope had let herself be encased in the heat. The water running over her, streaking her face alongside her tears as she sobbed. How could something so sweet taste so bitter?

Stepping out of the cloud, Penelope stared at her reflection. A mess of the purist black mascara and deep plum red lipstick. Gathering all she needed to cleanse away the mess she started. The intensity of the last few days had built inside her and now clawed for release. As the tears hindered her progress she persistently wiped away the layer of make-up, revealing her porcelain skin underneath. Marred by the blotchy effect of the tears she did her best to make herself feel better.

Tonight was definitely a PJs, ice-cream and Netflix night. Then tomorrow the make-up went back on and she braved the BAU, sans Morgan. A thought she didn't even want to consider right now.

. . .

My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person, he believed in me.

 **Jim Valvano, coach** **  
**


	19. Tribute

**Series 11 One-shots: Tribute**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **So I am trying to use my writing to escape reality – hoping my muse has come out of hiding after recent events. So this may be a little predictable but there was no way I was ignoring the big get together at the end.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Garcia:** We're having a family dinner!

. . .

As the laughter rung out once more Emily looked round at each of her dinner companions smiling faces, her own sprit lifting, once more, alongside theirs. How many times had she wished she were here with these guys once more? It was a difficult dynamic to miss and an impossible one to recreate. As much as she loved her work in London and the team were great, they weren't . . . family.

"Guess she's dreaming of lover boy . . . what's his name Garcia? Mark was it?"

Emily suddenly looked at David Rossi, a wicked glint in his eye.

"Tuned out on us then Bella. Hope he's worth it." He added with an exaggerated wink.

"Oh he's worth it and that," she deliberately looked at Penelope Garcia, "is all you are getting to know tonight."

"Or at least until the tequila kicks in," Tara chipped in with a raise of her glass.

"Nope, not even alcohol is going to get me talking on this one," Emily added with a set look of determination, glaring at both JJ and Garcia, daring either of them to try and break her.

"Must be good," JJ giggled.

Emily turned to face her, "and this is coming from the women who tried to convince us that there was nothing happening with a certain Detective LeMontagne for . . . how many months?"

"Twelve months, 1 week and 3 days . . . roughly!" Spencer added with a sheepish tone as he realised Emily hadn't expected an answer.

"Am I ever going to live that down?" JJ asked as she sipped on her cocktail.

"No," the group chorused back. All of them erupted into roars of laughter once more, oblivious to the looks of the others surrounding them.

"Honestly," Emily tried to calm herself with a swift slug of the ice-cold water she had alongside her Garcia ordered Margarita cocktail, "I was thinking how much I missed this." Her arms shrugged up, indicated all who surrounded her.

"Mexican that bad in London?" Hotch asked dryly.

"And some . . . it really hasn't hit the UK yet. Now Italian, not the stereotypical stuff, the genuine made the way Mama use to . . . Bellissimo. However that wasn't what I meant. I mean this . . . us . . . our family. My team are great but stiff British upper lip and all that, we're a team not a family."

"Oh shucks Honey," Penelope reached across Rossi to hold her hand, "That just makes me sad."

Emily squeezed her hand, "Don't be, it's not all bad," she winked.

Penelope rolled her eyes, "Thought we weren't talking about _him!"_

The banter continued as the team enjoyed their food. Before long they realised they were the last in the restaurant. Discreetly David paid the bill as the each finished their drink. Standing they made their way to the door. Emily linked arms with Penelope and lead the way, with a slight wobble. JJ and Tara followed with Hotch and Rossi behind them. The chatter was still following.

"You are all welcome back to mine to carry on the party," Dave offered as the stood together on the side walk.

"Much that I would love to," JJ answered, "I think I had better get back."

Penelope placed a hand on her arm, "Be sure to sneak in quietly, and don't go waking those beautiful boys."

JJ patted her hand, 'I'll do my best." It seemed to be enough to pacify the slightly tipsy tech guru.

"Shall we party Princess?" Penelope asked Emily.

"How about we head back to yours with the rest of that bottle we found?"

With an animated smile, her eyes lighting up, Penelope agreed. "We can have a sleepover in the lounge with popcorn and DVDs and . . . lots of girlie chat. I can even braid your hair and we can have facemasks and stuff. Sure you don't want to join us JJ?"

"Oh tempting as it is," JJ giggled, "I think I'll pass." Emily gave a pleading look, to which JJ just smiled and shook her head. "Of course I'm sure Henry would love to see Auntie Em before she heads back, so how about a play date tomorrow?"

Now Penelope was practically jumping up and down with excitement. "Yes, of course we will. Love to spend some time with two of my three favourite godsons."

Dave leant into Hotch, "Is this some new cruel and unusual interrogation technique you haven't shared with us?"

Hotch looked confused.

"An intensive hit if alcohol fuelled Garcia love followed by a hung-over mauling by children."

Hotch laughed, "Think we should join them after Jack's soccer session? See if the technique is worth using on our next serial killer."

"How about coffee in the park tomorrow morning?" Dave announced, "The kids can play and we can enjoy the sunshine."

All agreed before heading their separate ways.

. . .

Emily dropped her go-bag in the familiar multi-coloured lounge of Penelope Garcia's apartment. The blonde was in her bedroom, babbling away, Emily was barely able to make out a word of what she was saying. Instead she settled on the couch. It was strange how she felt more at home here then in her London apartment. The time they had spent together. The magic three; her, Penelope and JJ. The sisters she had never had"

"So I have blankets and pillows a plenty." Penelope had returned, pyjama clad, make-up removed and hair plaited on either side of her face. "Bathroom's all yours."

"Thanks," Em pushed herself up off the couch. As she did she felt Penelope's hand rest on her arm. She looked at her friend, concern etched on her normally cheerful face.

"You okay Sweetie?"

Emily smiled, "Right now Penelope I haven't been happier in a long time."

"Why don't you come back to us?"

"Because I needed a new beginning. I needed to move on . . . to start a fresh. London isn't a bad thing . . . it's just a different thing," Emily pulled her friend into a hug. "I love you guys and I miss you loads. I am so lucky to have an opportunity to work with you all again . . . but I need to do this. I need to leave the family home and stand on my own two feet – no matter how hard that is."

"I miss you Em."

"I miss you too."

. . .

Family are like branches on a tree.

We grow in different directions yet our roots remain as one.

Unkown


	20. Inner Beauty

**Series 11 One-shots: Inner Beauty**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **Sorry but there was no ignoring this one – obvious maybe but necessary I feel.**

 **I hope you like it.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Rossi:** Twenty-nine years . . . Twenty –nine years, you didn't tell me I had a daughter.

. . .

Dave shut his laptop, slowly and deliberately. Contemplating the implications of what he had just done.

Not the conversation he had had with his gorgeous grandson, apologising profusely for having to cut his birthday visit short. Nor the catch up he had had with Joy, who was now home.

No, he was focused fully on the comment he had made, in the most casual manner possible. The near throw-away comment right at the end of the Face-time session that was aimed at Hayden.

"I'll call you."

Simple, three words, but he had seen the minute change in her expression, until her diplomat decorum kicked in and schooled her face back to a neutral smile. She had simply nodded, her dark eyes boring into him through the computer screen.

He could kick himself.

 _Why? Why? Why?_

Why did he say he'd call? What was there to discuss?

Truth be told there was so much to say. He let his fingers slip off their resting point on the closed laptop and onto the edge of his dark wooden desk, as he leant back into his chair. His other hand came up to his face, stroking his chin as he contemplated his next move.

Seeing Hayden again this weekend had been so confusing. He had been amazed to see her there, yet common sense should have told him that they would meet up soon. How long could they avoid each other when they had something this good in common? The family they had created.

No matter how good it was, it had also brought back a huge heap of emotions.

His anger had bubbled. He wanted answers to why he had never known he had a daughter – he would have still been clueless if Joy hadn't been tenacious enough to track him down and introduce herself.

He wanted to know if she would tell him what he suspected. That she had thought him unworthy of fathering her child. That she had decided it was best to protect Joy from the work-alcoholic he was at the time. He needed to have her confirm that she had thought he would be a bad father, undeserving. He needed her to say all that he had believed of himself since he had met Joy.

Then Dave wanted to argue with her. To try and deny her reasoning, to say that he would have been a fantastic father and that she had no right to take away that opportunity from him. He wanted her to feel guilty, so that it might relieve his guilt for not being there for Hayden or Joy. He wanted to make this her problem, not his.

Yet JJ's words rung through his head. Hindsight was an amazing thing. Now with the maturity of his years Dave knew he would do anything to turn back the clock and be there for Hayden. He would do anything to be Joy's father. But as JJ had so delicately pointed out, would he really have done that in the height of his career? Honestly?

Sighing deeply Dave rose from his desk and wandered through to the kitchen. Not ready to face the truth that Hayden had probably been right to assess his shortcomings so to protect Joy from repeated disappointment. He busied himself preparing a fresh pot of coffee, he wasn't tired and felt it was best he didn't settle for anything stronger.

Maybe JJ was right. There was a lot of water under bridge, but maybe the bridge was in need of repair.

Pouring a strong black coffee, Dave knew he would regret it later but the smell was so comforting. He took the cup in one hand and the rest of the pot in the other and headed for the lounge.

Settling in his favourite chair, Dave placed his cell on the table next to the coffee. He pulled out the photo from his pocket, staring at the smiling image of Hayden and Kai. As he gazed at the picture it became clear what bothered him the most.

He still loved her.

He was still in love with Hayden.

He wanted to be angry with her. He wanted to be cross. He wanted to argue. Then he could hate her He could justify walking away from her once more.

That would all be so much more simple. It would be the easy option.

Reaching forward he took his cup of coffee. Holding it tight he let it take him away from his thoughts. Hiding in the steam, breathing in the bitter scent, Dave enjoyed the temporary reprieve from his thoughts. Allowing himself to feel safe, lost in the enjoyment of his fine brew.

Reaching the bottom of the cup, Dave immediately refilled. Though this one wasn't gifting him the escape.

Sighing deeply Dave reached for his phone. This wasn't going to be easy, no matter how he dressed it up. Before he changed his mind again, he made the call, all the time hoping it would cut straight to answerphone. It was ridiculous, days ago he chided Hayden for not returning his calls now he hoped she'd ignore him.

"Hello."

Dave paused.

"Dave . . . is something wrong?"

"No . . . No, nothing is wrong . . . I just . . ." Dave paused, searching for the words. "I think we should talk Hayden. I like us to talk. Maybe over dinner?"

There, he'd said it. He held his breath, waiting for her reply. He heard her breath, long and slow.

"Do you think that is a good idea?"

"Obviously, yes. Or I wouldn't have asked." So she wasn't going to make this easy for him. Didn't see realise how hard this was for him anyway?

"Dave what do you want from me?"

Wow, he wasn't expecting that. "Hayden, I honestly don't know but I think, for Joy's sake, we need to work this out. I don't want every birthday and holiday to be an awkward round of us avoiding each other. We have a family. I've lost enough already I don't want to lose anymore." The words tumbled out with a passion that surprised Dave himself. Let alone the impact it had on Hayden.

He heard the sigh; then he waited for something . . . anything.

"You know I hate to admit it but you're right. I am in Washington soon. I'll call and . . ."

"Thank you Hayden, I'd like that. Now tell me about that special Grandson of ours and the rest of his birthday."

When Dave finally put the phone down he looked at what was left of the cold coffee. Wrinkling his nose he ignored it. Now it was time for that drink.

. . .

In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future.

 **Alex Haley, author** **  
**


	21. Devil's Backbone

**Series 11 One-shots: Devil's Backbone**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **Yet again I begin with an apology for my lack of updates but I am not in a happy place at the moment. Writing is my escape the problem is I am struggling to escape. Is it wrong to wish 2016 was already over and I can have a fresh start?**

 **So enough of my problems – I thought I would wallow in Reid's problems for this episode. Sorry but if you have seen my profile you will understand why this had to be done.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Antonia Slade:** I haven't seen it in a long while but it looks very much like grief.

. . .

Spencer dropped his bags down heavily, barely a step into his apartment. His mood had failed to lift. Nothing about this case felt like a success. Yet he knew that wasn't the thing that was really grinding away at him. It was a niggling thought that had burrowed deep inside of him and was now fighting for attention. He had desperately tried to ignore it at the time . . . and was still doing his best to pretend that those few words had not cut him to the core.

"I haven't seen it in a long while but it looks very much like grief."

Word for word.

He had gone into study her and had come out having been on the receiving end of her amateur psychoanalysis. If it wasn't annoying enough that her taunts and jabs had been on par with basic playground antics, her summary of his emotional state had been more than a little accurate for his liking.

Slumping down onto the high stool by his kitchen counter, a bundle of entangled limbs supporting his head from hitting the counter. Spencer distracted himself counting the drips as his coffee brewed. He wasn't even sure if he wanted coffee, but without thinking he had made his way to the kitchen and started the process out of habit. Staring at the methodical drops of dark liquid he found some comfort in their steady rhythm. His mind opening willingly to the mundane distraction, racing while he tried to hypothesise how many drips it would take to fill the pot. At last something that was worthy of his conscious thought process.

Unfortunately it was short lived, as the regular drip became a sporadic drop, signally his pot of freshly made coffee was ready. Slowly rising from his huddle as he reached up for a coffee mug and poured freely, pouring in the cream and ladling it with sugar. Maybe it was what he needed after all.

Mug in hand he shuffled through to the lounge and plonked himself down, planning to hide away in a Doctor Who marathon. Though the latent heat scored his hands as he wrapped his long figures around the red mug. Anything but face the reality of those words. Opting for one of the forth Doctor's series, Tom Baker always being a favourite of his, he tried to settled down. But his mind wasn't finding solace in the familiar. It was still trying to process the truth in the words Slade had thrown at him.

Eventually he gave in and switched off. Was she right? Was he really grieving for Morgan? He wasn't dead so how could he grieve? He knew where he was. He could head out a visit him right now . . . if he wanted to . . . not that he did . . . but he could.

Spencer knew there was only one way left for him to overcome this – to work through the evidence. Getting up, he went to grab a pen and paper, retuning to his comfy couch and coffee he slumped down once more. Scribbling on the sheet he layout an area of the page for each of the five stages if grief.

If the thought it through he could match the evidence for each to the stages and prove that it was all wrong. That she couldn't possibly be right about him and what he was feeling.

The stages of grief were basic: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. With a large swig of the hot liquid Spencer started to write.

Denial – he had hid away when Derek had come to collect his stuff. Juvenile thinking allowing him to convince himself that Derek would never leave without saying goodbye, and if he never found him he couldn't leave. It was on par with a toddler covering their eyes when they hid – if they couldn't see you then you couldn't see them. But it had been short lived. Derek had found him, it hadn't exactly been difficult. He hadn't wanted to hear it. He hadn't wanted to listen to the undoubtedly brilliant reasons because the result was the same however you wrapped it up. Derek would be gone.

Anger – how could he be angry? Derek was leaving to be a father to his child. He planned to be there no matter what. Spencer was proud of him, doing what many fathers can't or wouldn't. Young Hank Spencer was the singular most important and completely compelling reason to walk away and for that single reason Spencer couldn't be angry. Not now . . . or ever.

Bargaining – What was there to negotiate? It couldn't be him. There was no deal to make Derek come back.

Leaning back Spencer began to smile. She was wrong he knew she was. Swallow some more of his coffee he felt compelled to complete his analysis. Picking the pen up once more he considered the next stage.

Depression – it was a strong word. He definitely missed having Derek there. He missed the jibes and the teasing. He missed the comradery of a true friend. He missed the immaturity of their on going prank war. He missed the look that let him know he was misinterpreting the situation without bringing any additional attention to him. There was so much they had shared that it would be impossible not to feel there was a huge Derek Morgan shape hole in his life. But was he truly depressed? No, just learning to accept the change.

Acceptance – he had accepted Derek leaving. He didn't like change, who did? However at least he understood why this had happened. I was perfectly clear and made sense. Yes he had completely accepted why Derek had picked the future he had.

Settling back once more, coffee in hand, Spencer smiled for the first time in days. It n't grief Slade had seen. It was nothing as simple as that. It was the complex combination of feelings you get when your brother leaves home. He isn't gone forever. He is only a phone call away. You miss him but then feel guilty when you realise you have got through a day without thinking "How would he deal with this?". You will see him again, just not every day.

Finishing his coffee, Spencer stood, screwing up the paper he had scribbled his notes on, he made his way out to the kitchen and then onto the bathroom. Readying himself for bed. Pottering through to his bedroom he was soon settled into bed. He picked up a book and began to read – maybe coffee hadn't been such a good idea after all!

. . .

I have a wonderful shelter, which is my family. I have a wonderful relationship with my brother and sister; this makes me feel that I know always where I belong.

 **Jose Carreras, Musician** **  
**


	22. The Storm

**Series 11 One-shots: The Storm**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

 **BEFORE YOU ALL COMPLAIN THIS ISN'T THE NEW CHAPTER!**

 **You need to go to chapter 17 which is new as I managed to miss it out (thank you MaryEllen1960 for not only pointing it out but also working out which ep I'd missed). So sorry.**

 **So this is it the final 'chapter'. Sorry for the delay but it is getting close to the end of the school year and I had reports and other paperwork to submit before I could get close to enjoying myself.**

 **I am sticking to form and ending the season with a little whole team round up – seen through Hayden's eyes.**

 **Thank you for the support and hopefully I'll see you for season 12.**

 **. . .**

 **Prompt:**

 **Rossi:** They're the only family I have outside of you and Joy.

. . .

Hayden looked down at her lap, fiddling with the napkin. She heard a soft sigh come from the only other person still sat at the table. Instantly she looked up.

"I'd like to say it gets easier and that you get use to it . . . but I guess you already know the truth on that." She noticed Will ball up his pristine white napkin and toss it onto the table, a minor show of the frustration he was obviously feeling.

Nodding solemnly, Hayden showed her agreed bubbling feelings and emotions. "Trust me when I say I am walking into this with my eyes wide open."

"It must be serious," Will nodded his head towards the recently closed doors, "They hold nights like tonight in reverence. A big 'DO NOT DISTURB' is posted on the team. They've all got a bit better about separating their lives and their work – though don't confuse that with finding a work like balance."

Hayden instinctively let out a soft laugh. "I don't think David Rossi is capable of developing a sense of work life balance. But its something I plan to try and work on."

Will snorted a laugh in return, "Good luck with that. Now if you don't mind, while they're deep in conversation I'm gonna to check on the kids quickly." With which he rose from his seat and made his way into the house through a side door, so not to disturb the team and their discussions.

Sighing Hayden rose from the table, deciding, like Will, she needed to step away and reign in her emotions. Since coming to stay with David she had found great peace in his immaculate gardens. Wondering freely, the scent of the evening blooms filling her senses and distracting her from her thoughts.

As she walked, thoughts of David's alternative family filtered through her mind. Not the consequences of what they were discussing now but more what she had learnt through sharing an evening with her now extended family.

She smiled as she thought of the young Doctor. Spencer Reid had won her heart with his magic show for the kids. The smiles and laughter he had created with his slight of hand and comic presentation. Yet all his confidence was as much of a bluff as his tricks. He was comfortable with the members of the team and Hayden had appreciated that part way through the meal he had started to relax with her too, accepting a stranger into the tight group. His naturally nervous nature made him all the more appealing. There was something about him that brought out every mothering instinct she had, yet caution stopped her from being that patronising. That said the way David spoke so fondly of him and the protective stance he took in the younger man's present it was obvious that David had fatherly feelings for him too.

In contrast Tara Lewis oozed a professional confidence that Hayden fully appreciated. The protective shield that she was capable of raising around herself, mirrored her own. I necessity women had developed when working in a male dominated world. Hayden had taken an instant liking to Tara from her first utterances in French. The small gesture cementing the comradary. Though there was no sign of it during the gathering Hayden would bet the younger women was as feisty as her, in fact she seemed to match an image she had of herself a decade or so ago. Probably why Dave spoke so fondly of her, that and a certain renovated car.

Feisty also seemed to be a word fit for the elaborate, but ever engaging, Penelope Garcia. However in a totally different way to Tara. The bright, figuratively and literally, young lady had enlightened the evening with her contagious sense of humour. She was obviously the ray of sunshine in what could clearly be a dark place. The way her childlike enthusiasm bubbled over, the laughter matched those of the boys when Spencer had been performing his tricks yet fitted with her peers around the table. She was a pleasure to be with. She could see why the 'Tech Kitten' brought a smile to Dave's face.

The final female of the clan, JJ, was nothing short of a living breathing superwoman. Hayden had thought bringing up at firecracker of a daughter alone was hard work. She had nothing but admiration for JJ, Will and her two beautiful boys. She had let Dave walk away as she had not wanted him to choose between her and the job. Yet this woman showed that with hard work you could have your cake and eat it too. Maybe it showed her she should have faith in Dave and their future together.

Finally there was Aaron Hotcher. The man she had heard so much about that she felt she knew him before she had ever met him. All she had seen tonight had confirmed that the man deserved the reputation Dave had given him. The man was the epitome of the strong leader. One glance round the table made it clear that his team held him in total admiration. He had barely said a word before they all followed him into the house, ready to go wherever they were needed. The team behind their fearless leader. The man Dave was happy to follow rather then lead.

The team, that gathered together as they had been, proved how they drew strength from each other. They knew how to bring out the best in each other and support when needed. They had a closeness then many natural families would covert.

Hayden smiled, realising she had come full circle. She stood, staring at the still empty table. If Dave was to be suddenly leaving her home alone then knowing he had this group around him, helping him, protecting him, supporting him. It was all she needed to feel secure

. . .

We Love

We Share

We Play

We laugh

We Fight

Family

We Live

(anon)


End file.
